


The Woman from the Plane

by VBL815



Category: Lost
Genre: Action/Adventure, Canon-Typical Violence, Complete, Cover Art, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, F/M, Flashbacks, Flashforwards, Fluff and Angst, LOST Seasons 1-6, Post-Canon, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:27:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 29
Words: 88,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27282655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VBL815/pseuds/VBL815
Summary: In Sydney, a woman haggles her way on to flight Oceanic 815, disappearing into the jungle shortly after the plane crashes. That night, Benjamin Linus wakes up shaken by an alarmingly vivid nightmare.Armed with knowledge she shouldn’t have, the woman demands to speak with the leader of the Others. As Ben begins to confront the man he has become, he must determine this stranger’s true intentions—just as she fights to earn his trust.
Relationships: Benjamin Linus & Alex Rousseau, Benjamin Linus/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 43





	1. A Significant Other/Prologue: The Passenger

****

**Prologue: The Passenger**

“Do you have any seats left flight 815?” the woman asked impatiently, tapping her passport on the ticket counter.

“I’m afraid not ma’am, but we do have a later flight, I can pull that up for you.”

“No—it needs to be 815.”

“I’m sorry, there aren’t any—”

“It’s fine,” she interrupted, “I’ll be back.” She scanned around the terminal, looking for someone pliable. An older couple was looking for the right place to check in—but that wouldn’t be right. There was a man in a wheelchair—but she couldn’t ask him, and she needed two tickets. A Korean couple was arguing by the escalator—a possibility, though she wasn’t sure either of them would speak English.

She noticed a younger couple in an intense conversation. The woman was tan and thin with dirty blonde curls. Her dark-haired boyfriend looked enthralled by her every word. They were an easy mark—trying too hard to look successful. “You two,” she snapped. They looked up.

“Are you on Oceanic 815?”

“Yes,” the man answered.

“I will pay you both $500 if you switch to the next flight to LA.”

They looked at each other. “Are you serious?” asked the blonde woman.

“I really need to be on that flight,” she explained.

“What do you think, Nikki?” the man asked.

“I mean we can just take the next flight? And it’s $1,000, Paolo. We could use the money.”

“Okay—but make it $1,000 each, and we’ll do it.”

Nikki rolled her eyes.

The woman barely reacted. “Fine.”

“Do you have it in cash?”

She nodded, and reached into her backpack, pulling out a billfold. She counted the money out discreetly and held it out to them. The man reached for it, but she pulled it away.

“We talk to the ticket lady first.”

She marched them back up to the counter. The attendant looked mildly annoyed.

“They’ll switch to the next flight,” she said, tilting her head in their direction.

“Are you sure?” the attendant asked the couple.

“We made a deal,” Paolo replied.

The attendant rolled her eyes. “Fine,” she said. “What’s your information?”

They handed her the tickets, and she typed their details into the machine.

“There will be a three-hundred-dollar fee to change your seats—are you sure you want to do this?”

“Yes,” Paolo replied, nodding.

“You’re all set, then” the attendant told the couple, handing them newly printed tickets. “You’ll leave about four hours later.”

The woman shook Paolo’s hand, passing him the wad of bills. “Thank you. You won’t regret this, trust me.”

He frowned at her, and walked away into the terminal, one hand on Nikki’s back.

“Alright ma’am. Let me see your passport. We’ll get you on this flight.”

She reached into her backpack and selected a passport. She quickly glanced at the information before handing it to the attendant.

The attendant looked at the picture and back at the woman, confirming that the pretty, professionally dressed young woman in the passport photo was the same person as the scowling, sunburnt traveler standing in front of her in a black tank top and drab cargo pants.

“You’re Swiss?”

“Yep,” she replied curtly.

“French Swiss or German Swiss?” she asked, trying to make conversation.

“French,” she answered, “but I grew up in Canada,” she explained, pulling out two more passports. She flashed the Canadian passport at the woman. “Dual citizen.”

“Oh, I see.” The attendant replied, and started typing the woman’s information into the computer. “I thought Canadians were supposed to be polite,” she muttered quietly.

The woman laughed. “It’s been a rough few days.” She handed the woman the third passport. “I also need to book the seat next to me for my husband.”

“Sure,” the attendant said, obviously tired of dealing with her. “Where is he?”

“Not sure at the moment, but I’ll take his boarding pass.”

“Any checked luggage?”

“Nope,” she replied, lifting up her olive-green camping backpack. “Just carry-on—for both of us.”

The attendant forced a smiled. “Alright then, here you go Mrs. Moriarty,” she handed back the passports and boarding passes. “Have a nice trip.”

She hurried through security and found the gate.

She looked around nervously at boarding, checked her watch, and pretended to make a phone call.

As the line started to thin out, she collected her things and stepped up to the counter. “My husband got a call he had to take” she lied to the flight attendant. “He went up to the lounge to use the computers.” She handed the man her extra boarding pass. “I just talked to him—he’ll see what he can do, but he might not make the flight—I have to get back to the office for a meeting, so I can’t wait here with him.”

“There’s not much time left, ma’am,” the attendant told her. “We’ll keep an eye out for him, but we can’t wait for him.”

“That’s no problem, we understand. No need to make any announcements. Whatever happens, happens.”

***

On the plane, the woman was finally able to relax. She glanced around at the passengers. They didn’t know what they were in for. She’d lived through a lot—she’d nearly drowned, years ago. But she’d never been in a plane crash.

She rummaged through her backpack, placing it on the seat beside her. She checked that everything was in order. The envelope wasn’t bent—that was good. The passports were all there. She’d spent most of what remained of the cash on getting Nikki and Paolo off the flight, but that was obviously worth it. And she wouldn’t have much need for cash once they arrived.

She fought the urge to open the envelope. She needed that comfort, but it wasn’t worth the gamble of anyone seeing what was inside. There was no one sitting beside her, but still she couldn’t risk it. She sighed.

She had told the ticket lady the truth about one thing—it _had_ been a long few days. She’d only had four days to get to Sydney. It had taken a harrowing boat ride and three flights to get here. She hadn’t showered since she was in the Turkish airport, and even that was just a quick one to get rid of the worst of the grime. She was exhausted. And she knew she would need the energy when they got to the Island.

The plane took off without incident. Her adrenaline spiked a bit as the wheels came up, but she settled down quickly. She took a coffee and an LA Times when the flight attendant came by. She flipped through the pages idly. There wasn’t too much happening. She read a story about the state of the war in Iraq, and—with morbid curiosity—a story about a varsity swimmer at Yale who had dropped dead of an aneurysm.

She yawned, and flashed a knowing smile at the large man across the aisle, who reacted with an involuntary grin. Then she leaned into the window, and went to sleep.

She dreamed of the beach. She couldn’t see it for some reason, but she could feel it, and hear it, and smell it. She walked down, feeling the dry grass crunch under her feet, then turn to cool sand, hearing the waves lap against the shore. In the dream, she sat down in the sand and waited, but no one could hear her shouting, and no one came.

She was jolted awake when the turbulence started. _This was it_. She reached under the seat and grabbed her backpack. Clutching it as tightly as she could. At first, nothing happened—just normal turbulence. Then the plane started to rattle violently, and it was ripped apart, and it was hurtling down.

Everyone was screaming. Her heart was pounding—even though she knew it would probably be alright. She stayed as calm as she could, and held on to her bag, knowing the contents were critical to her survival.

She lost consciousness on impact.

**Chapter 1: A Significant Other**

When the woman woke up, the crash site was still in chaos. The plane was burning—she could see some charred bodies among the dozens of injured, panicked passengers—screaming, crying and wailing for help.

 _The bag._ She looked around. She’d lost it in the crash. _Fuck._

She dragged herself to her feet and scrambled aimlessly around the crash site, looking for it. She was dizzy. She touched her forehead, and felt a warm wetness oozing from her hairline. _Blood._

She kept going. Before she could do anything else, she needed to get the bag.

She spotted it behind a piece of the plane. She ran to it, and dropped to her knees, checking its contents. Everything was in order. The relief washed over her. She pulled two Swiss passports out and slipped them into the pocket of her pants. She tightened the drawstring on the top and clipped it shut. She put it on, clipping the chest strap. She wasn’t losing it again.

“Are you okay?”

She spun around. A handsome man with short dark hair was staring at her with concern. She didn’t reply.

“I’m a doctor.”

“I think my head is bleeding,” she told him, tilting her head forward so that he could see the damage.

He looked at the injury, gently running a finger through her hairline. “What’s your name?”

“Audrey,” she lied.

“I’m Jack,” he told her, carefully examining the wound. “It doesn’t look deep, Audrey,” he told her, “but you might have a concussion. Try to find a place to sit and take it easy.”

“I can’t,” she told him. “I need to find my husband.”

“Was he sitting with you?”

“No, he was a few rows away.” She pulled the passports out of her pocket. She opened the first—her own—and put it back in her pocket. She handed him the other. “His name is Dean.”

He looked at it, frowning.

“Have you seen him?” She asked, her voice wavering with genuine emotion.

Jack shook his head.

“I need to go look for him.”

“You’re in rough shape, Audrey, you need to sit. If he’s here, he’ll find you.”

She smiled at him, sadness in her eyes. “You’re not married, are you?”

He was taken aback. “Not anymore,” he replied, confused.

She looked out at the ocean. “It’s just a concussion. I need to find him.”

His brows furrowed as he considered whether it was worth arguing with her. “Just be careful,” he said eventually. He tried to hand the passport back to her, but she refused to take it back.

“Keep the passport, doc,” she told him. “If he shows up, give it to him, and tell him I’m looking for him.” She bit her lip, pretending to fight back tears. “If you find him, and he’s not…” she trailed off. “At least you’ll have a picture.”

She patted Jack on the shoulder and darted of down the beach, shouting out for Dean and making some show of looking through the survivors.

Then she ran off into the jungle.

*******

The night after the plane crashed, Benjamin Linus woke suddenly from a horrible dream.

He had been standing at his kitchen window. There was a man he didn’t recognize holding a gun to his daughter’s head. He had others with him—they looked military—mercenaries. There were different men in his house—none of whom he knew—backs against the wall. They seemed to be helping him to defend his home from these invaders, though he couldn’t quite put his finger on _why._

The mercenaries were demanding that he come out of the house—they were connected by walkie-talkie, and Ben thought it strange that they were both on the same frequency. He could see that Alex was sobbing. The mercenary had forced her to her knees and put the walkie-talkie to her mouth. They were serious, Alex said. They had killed Karl.

He tried to calm Alex down. Then he tried to call the man’s bluff. He couldn’t kill Alex—it would break the rules. There was no need to leave the house.

Besides, he announced through the walkie-talkie, she wasn’t his daughter. He had stolen her as a baby. She was just a pawn. And if that man wanted to kill her, he could go ahead and do it.

And so he did.

And that’s where the dream ended.

Ben had woken up with a sickened feeling in his stomach, his blood chilled by his memory of the nightmare. It had been such a vivid dream. It wasn’t out of focus—not disjointed or contextually inconsistent. It had felt real. 

He shuddered, exhaled loudly, and went back to sleep. His sleep was restless—there were other dreams, some that felt almost as real as the nightmare. But those dreams faded from his memory each time he woke. The memory of the nightmare, however, lingered.

In the morning, he got up, and followed his usual routine. He wondered idly if the dream was a symptom of his condition. He made a mental note to ask Juliet.

Though, he noted to himself, she wouldn’t be happy with him—given where he had sent Goodwin.

*******

The woman marched through the forest, forcing herself not to stop. It was a long walk, and there was no time to waste. She had everything she needed in her bag—there was water, a flashlight, some snacks. She had considered buying a mini vodka on the flight to ease the nerves, but she had decided against it. She needed to stay sharp.

She had gone to sleep against a tree for a few hours once night fell, but it was a restless sleep. Today, her back was hurting, and her feet were sore. But she was anxious to get to the barracks. She needed to keep going.

She was a few hours into the second day of walking. She knew the way, and she had a good sense of direction, but she knew that the Island had its way of turning one’s head around. And she knew the dangers that hid around every corner.

When she heard the rattling noise and a rustling in the treetops, she knew what it was. But she was nervous, nonetheless.

“You can’t hurt me,” she shouted at it, feigning confidence.

She saw the tail end of what looked like a black cloud out of the corner of her eye. Then it disappeared, and the air was silent.

It emerged in front of her all at once, crackling with energy and rattling like an old train. She instinctively took a step back, but she kept her chin up.

“I know what you are. I’m not afraid of you. There’s nothing you can do to me.”

It inched closer to her.

“I’m a piece in play, but I’m not like the rest of them. I’m from a different game,” she called out. “I am not yours to judge.”

The cloud enveloped her, and she stayed as still as she could, waiting for it to give up. She could feel it searching for something—she had a strange, implicit awareness of its consciousness. It whirled around her angrily for a few moments, but in a flash, it was gone.

She exhaled. She hadn’t been sure that would work.

The rest of the trip was a bit easier. It was mostly downhill, and she knew where she was headed.

It was dawn the next day by the time she arrived at the clearing in front of the sonic fence. She walked along the border for a while, until she found one of the cameras. She waved at it for a few minutes, swinging her hands in the air as dramatically as she could. She hoped there was someone paying attention.

It was very early in the morning, so she knew it would take a while for someone to get to the fence. She plopped down on the ground, making sure she was in the camera’s frame. She lay back into the grass and stared at the sky, watching as the pinks and purples burned away to blue. She was more nervous now than she had been in the jungle. She wasn’t sure how they would react. She was prepared for anything, but a small part of her hoped that it would all just work out right away.

That was foolish, of course. She had no reason to think they would believe her. They would be confused—him especially. She sighed. It wasn’t going to be easy.

She heard the rumble of an engine in the distance a few hours later. It stopped out of eyesight—presumably they wanted to keep their options open.

She hopped to her feet to watch the group approaching her. She recognized the tall, dark haired figure, but no one else looked familiar.

As soon as they were in earshot, she raised her hands in the air. “Take me to your leader,” she shouted glibly.

“You’re speaking to him,” Richard Alpert called out.

“No, I need to talk to Ben.”

“Who?”

“You can’t bullshit me, Richard. I need to talk to Ben.”

Alpert stopped in his tracks.

“Who are you?”

“A friend. I need to talk to Ben.”

She pulled her passport out of her pocket and tossed it through the fence at him. She raised her hands above her head and waited.

He walked over and picked up the passport. He opened it and frowned. “Where did you get this?”

“It’s a long story.”

“Is your name really Audrey Moriarty?”

“What do you think?” she scoffed.

“Did Jacob send you?”

She frowned and scrunched her nose. “In a roundabout way. I guess.”

Alpert gestured to the group to stay put and walked up to the sonic fence. He waved at the camera, and the whirring noise stopped.

“Come on then,” he told her. “We’re going to restrain you, just to be safe.”

“Fine,” she said. “Just take me to him. You’re looking well, by the way.”

He blinked. “Have we met?”

She smiled. “In a manner of speaking.”

Alpert took her bag while someone ziptied her hands behind her back. The group walked her up the hill to the van. She looked wistfully out the window as they drove. When the little yellow houses appeared in the distance, she smiled. The man sitting next to her noticed and shot a look at the woman on her left. The woman shrugged.

When they arrived at the Barracks, Alpert hopped out of the van first. “Juliet,” he called to a blonde woman walking by, “where’s Ben?”

“At home, I think—why, what’s going on?”

“A survivor just showed up at the gate.”

“What? Already?”

“Talk to Mikhail—check to see if she was actually on the plane,” he instructed, handing Juliet the passport. “And find out if we have any records of her.”

She opened it and looked back at Richard confused.

“Please, Juliet, I don’t have time to explain.”

“Alright,” she agreed, and trotted off.

Alpert opened the van door, taking the woman’s bag with him. The rest of the group disembarked. Alpert held the woman’s arm as she hopped out.

“Alright, we can talk to Ben now.” He started leading her towards a house.

“I thought that lady said he was home.”

Alpert raised an eyebrow.

“I know this isn’t his house,” she continued, exasperated. “This will be a lot easier if you just assume I know everything.”

Richard looked back at the group that had accompanied him to the fence. “You all can go,” he told them.

“You better have a lot of answers, _Audrey_.” Alpert said, attempting a menacing tone.

She met his stare, rolled her eyes, and laughed through an exasperated smirk.

When they reached Ben’s house, Alpert rang the doorbell.

A girl answered the door. She looked at the woman, and then up at Alpert.

“Alex, is your dad home?”

“Yeah, I’ll go get him.”

The woman stared at Alex openly. Her expression was unreadable, but she was clenching her jaw tightly to keep her face still.

“Who is this?”

“Honestly, I don’t—just go get your dad. Then get out of the house for a while.”

“You should go hang out with Karl,” the woman interjected, with a grin. “Your dad will be very distracted for the next few hours. He won’t ask too many questions.”

“How do you—”

“Alex. Your dad.”

She disappeared down the hall. “Richard Alpert is here, and he has a weird woman with him,” she shouted. The woman couldn’t make out Ben’s muffled response.

Alex reappeared, grabbing a bag from the floor of the hall. She slipped out behind Alpert. “I don’t want to know,” she said, noticing Alpert about to speak.

Alpert led the woman into the kitchen and sat her down in one of the chairs. “Don’t move,” he instructed.

“I am literally sitting on my hands, don’t worry.”

Through the walls, she could hear him having a muffled conversation with Ben.

“So she had a passport with a last name that I use—that could be a coincidence, Richard.”

“It’s not. She knew which house was yours. And she knew about Karl, of all people.”

“Karl?”

“Your daughter’s friend.”

“I know who Karl is, I just— _Karl_?”

They turned the corner into the kitchen.

She looked over her shoulder at them. It took all of her willpower to keep her emotions in check.

“Hi,” she said, her voice small.

“Who are you?” Ben asked, dismissive and annoyed. He buttoned the top of his green shirt. He must have been in the middle of getting dressed.

“You found out two days ago that there is a tumor on your spine.”

His eyebrows shot up. Alpert looked stunned.

“Oh Jesus, Ben, did you not tell Richard?”

“He just got back last night. I haven’t had the chance to—how did you know about that?”

“I know a lot of things. I also know that there was a spinal surgeon on my flight.”

She paused to let that information sink in. He blinked slowly.

“I also know that your first thought—just now—was to start concocting some hare-brained plot to manipulate him into operating on you.”

Ben gaped at her.

“I’m here to help you, I promise.”

“Jacob sent you?”

She shrugged. “Can I take a shower?”

Ben glanced back at Richard questioningly. “Did you know about this.”

Alpert shook his head. “I did not.”

“Can you at least cut my zipties?”

“Why should we trust you?”

She laughed. “I don’t know—you probably shouldn’t. I’m here to help you, Ben. I know you’re paranoid, but why would I do all this to trick you?”

“What’s your real name?”

“Jennifer Gale,” she said with a straight face.

His frown deepened, and she started giggling.

“How did you know about the balloon?”

She rolled her eyes. “Ben, there is a tumor on your spine, and it _will_ kill you. That’s why I am here. The sooner you accept that I know _everything_ , the better. Let me help you.”

He stared her down for a minute, trying to intimidate her. He had a way of communicating all sorts of evil intent with just a look. She remained unimpressed.

“Alright,” he acquiesced, gesturing at Alpert to cut her restraints. With her arms free, she quickly grabbed her backpack from the floor and ran off down the hallway.

“I’m taking a shower,” she called over her shoulder, walking straight into Ben’s bedroom. She locked the door behind her.


	2. Blank Slate

**Chapter 2: Blank Slate**

She turned the water on in the bathroom and tiptoed back into the bedroom. She fished the envelope out of the bag and confirmed that it was sealed. She gingerly lifted one of the nightstands, as quietly as she could, and placed the envelope underneath. She made sure the dents in the carpet were completely realigned when she set the nightstand down again.

She then stripped her dirty clothes off and stepped into the shower, letting the hot water rinse over her.

She started crying almost immediately. Seeing Alex had almost done it to her, but seeing Ben—it had taken everything she had to hold it in. He seemed well—though she knew that the news of the tumor would be weighing on him.

She let the tears fall as she scrubbed the dirt and blood away, and by the time she was done showering, she had cried enough to pull herself together. She wiped the steam from the mirror and looked at her reflection.

 _I look like shit_.

It was mostly exhaustion. Her eyes were wearied with grief and sleeplessness. She had lost a great deal, and she had given up a lot to get here. And dealing with a cantankerous Ben was not the reward she had been hoping for. But she’d expected that he would be unkind and distrustful, at least for a while. She had known she would have to steel herself against that.

She brushed out her long dark hair and stepped back into the bedroom, wrapped in a towel. Her clothes were filthy. She crept towards the door and pressed her ear against it.

Silence.

“Are you standing right outside, Linus?”

She heard a muffled cough.

“Could you get me some of your daughter’s clothes please? Mine are covered in blood and swamp musk.”

There was no answer.

“If you don’t, I’m just going to wear yours. And I don’t think your briefs are really going to fit me very well.”

She heard him ambling off down the hallway, and she grinned to herself.

He knocked, and she opened the door a crack, snatching the clothes from his hands.

“Thanks,” she said, and promptly closed the door again.

When she was dressed, she made her way back to the kitchen and sat back down in the seat Alpert had dropped her in.

Ben reappeared, surprised to see her.

“Can you make me a coffee?”

He stared at her blankly.

“Please.”

He wordlessly started a pot.

“Eight scoops for the full pot,” she instructed.

“I know.”

“You don’t usually make the full pot.”

“I know.”

“Can you get the chocolate powder for me?” she asked.

“Get it yourself,” he snapped back

“It’s in the cupboard above the fridge behind the extra coffee filters, and I can’t reach it.”

“You need to stop it with these parlor tricks,” he said slowly, handing her the DHARMA issue chocolate powder.

“Is that what they are?”

“You’re not a psychic.”

“I never said I was. I just have a lot of information. And I retain it well.”

“About the contents of my kitchen?”

She shrugged.

He brought the pot to the table and poured himself a cup before handing it to her. She scooped chocolate power into the mug and stirred the coffee in a bit at a time. She sipped it slowly, the taste immediately improving her mood.

He watched her attentively, trying to size her up. It had been a long time since anyone had the audacity to treat him with this much disrespect.

“What’s your real name?” he asked her again, this time softly.

“Valerie.”

“Valerie _what_?” he pressed, pronouncing the h with a distinct breathiness.

“Just Valerie.”

“Are you married?” he asked, nodding at her wedding band and engagement ring. She fidgeted with them, spinning the engagement ring around her finger. She shook her head.

He raised an eyebrow questioningly.

“I was pretending to be.”

“Why?”

“To make the next part easier.”

He frowned. “I am afraid I don’t follow.”

“Those people saw me on the plane. They saw me on the beach—I made sure of that. I wandered off looking for my _husband_ right after the crash. If you come back with me, they won’t have any reason to suspect that you weren’t on 815 with the rest of us.”

“With me?”

She nodded.

“As your _husband_?”

She nodded again, ignoring his obvious skepticism.

“To what end?”

“To make them like you, enough to want to help you—enough to forgive you when they figure out who you really are—what this place really is.”

“Do you really think anyone would believe that I would be your husband?”

She shrugged. “Why wouldn’t they?”

He searched for tactful words.

She knew what he wanted to say—she knew that she wasn’t the type of woman he saw himself with—and that his unrequited feelings for Juliet might complicate things.

“Don’t you think it would be easier believe _that_ than to believe someone on the plane knew it would crash precisely here?” she supplied.

“Perhaps,” he answered. He thought about it for a moment. “I suppose it’s credible enough. But why would I trust _you_?”

She was prepared for the question.

“Have you ever seen someone die from the type of tumor you have, Ben?”

“I have not.”

“Well, I have. It’s painful to watch. It’s excruciating to live through. Jack will do the surgery, I promise. I don’t expect you to trust me—I’d be more surprised if you did. But you can trust that I don’t want you to suffer through this disease. I’ve seen what it does. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone. Even you.”

“Who is Jack?”

“Jack Shephard. The passenger. Spinal surgeon.”

“Oh. Of course.” He paused, trying to find some reason not to believe her. “Why does Jacob want me to stay alive?”

“I wouldn’t pretend to know that, Ben,” she answered quickly, raising an eyebrow. “Why do you think he’d want you to die?”

The question threw him off guard, if only momentarily. There were many reasons he might deserve a slow and painful death. His mind flashed to his father. He frowned at her.

“What do you suggest we do?”

“We’ll go back to their camp. Gain their trust. Then when you ask for their help, they’ll come willingly—no hostages or threats or kidnapping needed.”

“Kidnappings?”

“No kidnappings,” she reiterated.

“What on earth are you talking about?”

“And no tests on the pregnant girl—it will just cause problems.”

“There’s a pregnant girl?”

“Never mind,” she replied, realizing that he probably didn’t have that information yet.

“Are you trying to give me orders?”

“Didn’t Alpert tell you that Jacob sent me?”

He sighed. “Alright.”

She grinned at him.

“But I am not going anywhere with you yet. We’re looking into your story. If anything raises concerns, your plan is off the table.”

“You won’t find anything.”

“Then you have nothing to worry about.”

“No, you don’t understand. You won’t find _anything_. That _will_ probably raise concerns, so I just wanted to tell you myself. You’re welcome.”

“I’m sure we’ll find something.”

“Okay,” she muttered, rolling her eyes. “You won’t, but okay.”

“We’ll see.”

***

Valerie was right. When Juliet knocked on his door a few hours later, she came more or less empty handed.

“We tracked her trip back to Rome. She flew to Turkey and stopped in Hong Kong before arriving in Sydney. Nothing before that—and I mean _nothing_. She used a different passport for each trip—and from what I gather, you might find some of these names familiar?”

She opened the manila folder she was carrying and pointed to a short list.

Ben nodded thoughtfully, taking the folder from Juliet. “It’s almost like she’s using these names to taunt me,” he mused, “or to convince me she’s genuine, perhaps.” He flipped through the pages, looking for some explanation. “What else?”

“Before that—nothing. We couldn’t find records of anyone with both her birthdate—which appears to stay consistent—and any of the names on her passports. And I don’t think that Valerie is her real name either—there was an article in the LA Times from the day of the crash about the death of a teenager named Valerie Bonaventure—it’s in there. I think she probably read it on the plane.”

“No other connection to the girl?”

She took the folder back, flipped to the article and handed it to Ben.

_Valerie Bonaventure_

_April 8, 1985 – September 19, 2004_

The story featured a picture of the girl—with her light blonde hair and long, side-swept bangs. He squinted at it.

“The birthday is the same as the passport. April 8. The year is different, obviously. Hers is 1976.”

“So what do you think? This isn’t her is it? She’s not a nineteen-year-old girl.”

He looked at it again. Hair can be dyed, and he couldn’t really see the face that clearly—but if there was any resemblance, it wasn’t obvious.

“I don’t think so,” Juliet replied. I think she read the story, saw the birthday, and picked a new alias. Maybe she just liked the name. I don’t think there is much else there.”

“How did this girl die?”

“Natural causes, apparently—a freak aneurysm. It’s a sad story. She was a promising college student at Yale.”

Ben nodded, his mind thrown back to the image of Alex with a gun to her head. He bit the inside of his cheek.

“She did warn me.”

“What’s that?”

“She said we’d find nothing,” he said absently, thumbing through the pages Juliet had handed him

“She wasn’t on the manifest until a couple of hours before departure. It looks like a couple of passengers moved to a later flight, and she was able to get on Oceanic 815.”

“Is that significant?” Ben asked, frowning.

“Maybe. Hard to say. If nothing else, she definitely knew to be on this flight.”

“I think that’s beyond question at this point.”

“There’s more—you’re also on the manifest.”

“What?”

She showed the document to him. “Dean Moriarty—with your passport number and everything.”

A look of genuine surprise flashed across his face. “Well that’s a nice touch,” he murmured to himself.

“What does she _want_?” Juliet asked, her voice growing quiet.

“She wants to help.”

“Help with what?”

“To help me—with…” he trailed off for a moment, raising an eyebrow. “With the tumor.”

Juliet leaned against the door frame. “She knew about the tumor?”

“Does anyone else know, Juliet?”

She shirked back, understanding the question as an accusation. “I didn’t tell anyone.”

He stared her down for a few moments, and decided she was innocent.

“Are there any symptoms you didn’t tell me about? Vivid dreaming? That sort of thing?”

Juliet shook her head, startled by the sudden shift in topic. “No—no it’s on your spine not in your brain.”

“Of course,” he replied.

“Does this have something to do with the woman?”

“It might. It’s hard to say. She knows far more than she should, in any rate. I’m inclined to believe that she’s some sort of emissary of Jacob’s.”

“What are you going to do with her?”

“I think I’m going to do as she asks,” he replied, surprised at his own answer.

“What is she asking you to do?”

“Go back to the survivor’s camp with her. Infiltrate them.”

She frowned. “You already sent Ethan and Goodwin.” Her eyes flashed with anger.

“And their work is important too.” He paused, eyeing her slowly. “He’s married, Juliet,” Ben said suddenly, “and he’s not married to you.”

She was taken aback by his sudden lack of subtlety.

“I—”

“It’s fine,” he interrupted, surprising himself. “But don’t expect these things to stay hidden. It’s hard to keep a secret like that in a place like this.”

She nodded curtly, snatched the folder from his hands, and walked away as quickly as she could.

Ben wasn’t sure what had happened. Surely, Juliet knew that he’d been harboring some feelings for her. And he had, of course, known her interests were elsewhere. But suddenly, that stung a little less. It was the dream, perhaps. There were more important things to care about.


	3. Confidence Woman

**Chapter 3: Confidence Woman**

Ben returned to his study to find Valerie lounging on his sofa, a book in her hand.

“I suspect I don’t need to relay that conversation to you.”

“I wasn’t listening in, if that’s what you mean.”

She was certainly lying.

“I thought you knew everything.”

“Only where the chocolate is,” she deadpanned. “Everything else is a guess. Or a parlor trick.” She turned back to the book.

He stood in front of her expectantly, hands in his pockets.

“What?” she asked, indignant.

“This is my office,” he replied, gesturing at her.

She looked around. “It sure seems that way, doesn’t it?” she replied sarcastically.

He sighed and sat down at his desk.

“What are you reading?”

“The Idiot,” she replied, holding up the cover for him to see.

He thought that she was perhaps trying to goad him into snapping at her, but he resolved not to engage. Instead he ignored her and turned to the papers at his desk—details on the survivors of Oceanic 815. Attention was what she wanted, and he would outlast her.

Hours passed, and she had made her way through almost a third of the dense Russian novel. He had ignored her steadfastly, and she had done the same—though he wasn’t sure she really cared whether or not he was there.

He hadn’t figured out where to put her for now—Hydra was a safe option, but she was more or less unthreatening, and if she really was who she claimed to be, it wasn’t worth the risk of caging her and angering Jacob.

He glanced over at her and realized that she had fallen asleep. The book was resting on her chest, rising and falling with her breathing.

He’d never met anyone so self-assured in his presence. He had a way of throwing people off balance—of making them doubt themselves. She didn’t seem naïve enough to actually trust him, but she didn’t seem afraid of him either, which was unusual. Even those he was closest to—even Alex—had a bit of mistrust in their eyes when they spoke to him. Perhaps it was just that she didn’t know what he was capable of. Though, given what she did know, she probably had some inkling.

She rolled over, and the book tumbled off of her chest and onto the floor. He picked it up absently and placed it on the end table. He considered the situation and eventually decided that the easiest thing would just be to leave her here. He reached over her carefully, pulled the blanket off the back of the couch, and gingerly draped it over her.

He stood over her, hands in his pockets, and looked at her face. Now that she was asleep, he could really stare at her. She was pretty—large, wide-set eyes—dark brown and sunken into her face. She looked young—no older than thirty, or at least not much older. She was likely too young and pretty to pass as his wife—though that was a problem for another day.

There was a tiredness in those big eyes, and a sort of gauntness in her face. The journey here had likely been grueling for her, but there was something more—an emotional exhaustion. She was masking it with her obstinance and cynical humor, but she hadn’t been able to hide it from him. He’d noticed it earlier, particularly when she first arrived. She was grieving. It was no wonder that she had fallen asleep.

He turned the lights off and left her in the office. He didn’t trust her, but he didn’t think that whatever she was planning involved exposing her true intentions before she’d had any chance to earn his trust.

He peered into Alex’s room on his way to bed. She was asleep—she’d come in without saying hello. Perhaps she’d wanted to avoid their new house guest. Whatever the case, he was glad that she wasn’t off getting into trouble with Karl.

In the quiet darkness of his room, memories of his nightmare returned. He tried to erase the image of Alex’s death from his mind, but he couldn’t shake it. He fell asleep eventually—the memory only slipping out of focus as he drifted out of consciousness.

He woke slowly the next morning, and it took him a moment to realize how strange it was that he could smell breakfast. He showered and dressed himself as quickly as he could, then made his way to the kitchen.

The woman was cooking.

“Right on time,” she announced, looking at the clock.

“What are you doing?”

“Have your eggs, Linus.”

She handed him a plate of food, and he looked down at it. It was the exact breakfast he sometimes prepared for himself, arranged in almost the same way on the plate. He looked back at her, dumbstruck.

“Sit down first,” she added.

He did as he was told, walking slowly to the kitchen table, finding his usual seat—his place setting already set.

“I’m not sure what you’re trying to accomplish here, Valerie,” he said slowly, cutting into a poached egg.

She sat down across from him with a plate of food. “I was starving when I woke up. It would have been rude to make myself breakfast in your kitchen without also making _you_ breakfast.”

“Yes, I was referring to the specificity with which you recreated my typical breakfast.”

She smirked. “I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Does Jacob keep records of everyone’s meal preferences?”

“Oh, is that how you like your eggs?” she deadpanned. “What a coincidence.”

She brought her own plate over and started to sit next to him but decided against it at the last moment and sat across the table instead.

She started eating immediately, careful not to make eye contact with him.

He watched her for a while before he took a bite. It was unremarkable—exactly what he usually ate. Perhaps a bit better—which was, all said, quite unnerving.

She looked up slyly and grinned at him.

“Good?”

“Fine,” he replied curtly.

She pursed her lips, resisting the urge to laugh.

“What?” He asked sharply.

“Nothing,” she lied.

***

Valerie was having lunch by herself at the Grove. Her suit was too warm. She hadn’t gotten around to doing dry cleaning in a while, and her winter white suit was the last clean one she had. It was—allegedly—four season tropical wool, but this one had always been a bit too hot.

She ordered a cobb salad with extra avocado and waited for her meeting to arrive.

He showed up twenty minutes late, looking nervous and a bit sweaty. Everything about him screamed Los Angeles wealth—from the tan, to the perfectly wavy hair, to the Botox in his forehead.

“Zachary,” she said slyly.

“Valerie,” he replied, frowning at her. “Did we have to meet somewhere so _public_?” he asked, fidgeting with his hands. She looked at his face. He’d clearly dipped into his cocaine supply before getting out of his car.

“No one comes here except tourists really. Besides, Zach, you’re not famous. You’re an airline executive. Who is going to recognize _you_?”

“Fine—whatever. Why am I here?”

“Is your phone off?”

“Yes—I left it at home, like you said.”

Valerie fished a document out of her purse and passed to him.

“How did you get this?”

She stared at him. “How do you think?”

“Do you have us under surveillance? Did you get warrants for everything?”

“I don’t need a warrant for stored email, Zachary. We had enough for the court order.” She paused, noting the confusion in his eyes. “It’s like a subpoena, sort of—” she realized that there was no point in explaining it to him.

“We won’t have any trouble getting a warrant now, if we need one,” she continued. “And yes, you and several other Oceanic executives are about to be indicted. You’ve been getting into all sorts of trouble.”

“The company can’t take that—we’ll go under.”

“Poor choice of words, given everything,” she suggested, wincing at him.

He shook his head nervously “Sure, sure—you’re right. What do you want? Why me?”

“I want to offer you something—I can make _this_ go away.” She waved the email in his face. “Not for everyone—just for you. I have the discretion to do that.”

That was a lie. She had prosecutorial discretion over some things, but this sort of decision was way over her pay grade. Her bosses had already decided they didn’t have enough to indict Zachary. He’d barely been involved. He was too stupid to even be a useful witness.

“What do you want?”

“Money—just like everyone else. The Department does not pay all that well, and if I can be perfectly honest with you Zach, I just want _more_ of it.”

That wasn’t entirely true—it wasn’t about the money. She was, more than anything, profoundly bored with her life. This was just a game that she had decided to play.

“How much? I can write you a check?”

“A personal check seems like a uniquely terrible idea, wouldn’t you agree?”

He wiped his mouth. “Cash then?”

“Cash would be good. I want two-fifty.”

“Thousand?”

“No, I want two hundred and fifty dollars so that I can buy half a pair of shoes—obviously thousand. God.”

“Okay, I can do that—and you’ll keep me out of jail?”

“Yes—but there’s a catch. The money needs to come from your side business. Don’t withdraw it from your bank account.”

“My what?”

“Oh, yeah. I am _also_ aware that you have a little side-hustle bringing drugs into the country on your planes using phony diplomatic bags.”

He swallowed.

“Don’t worry Zach. That’s something I figured out by myself—no one knows.”

“Do you want more money?”

“I want a cut. Not much—just five percent.”

“Five percent of my cut or five percent of the whole business?”

She stared at him “the _business_ , Zachary. Again, obviously.”

“And this all goes away?”

“All of it.”

“Fine,” he agreed.

“Great. I’ll be in touch.” She got up, leaving her salad unfinished. “You’ll pick up the tab?”

He nodded, dumbstruck, holding his head in disbelief as she walked away.

She knew that Zach would become a loose end at some point, but he would be easy enough to tie off. There was always another move to be made.

***

Ethan and Goodwin provided reports on the survivors from each section of the plane. They appeared to be a diverse and resilient group, determined to survive and escape this place.

Ethan confirmed to Ben what Valerie had told him—there was a spinal surgeon on the plane, and a pregnant young woman named Claire.

He ignored Valerie’s warnings against recruitment and testing. They needed to bring anyone amenable into the fold. And if the girl’s pregnancy could help them to solve their crisis, it was worth the risk.

He felt oddly uncomfortable going against her express request. She was extremely persuasive—to the point that he sometimes felt almost compelled to agree with her. He never felt as though his own will had been stifled; he agreed with her the way one agrees with a trusted old friend—like she had made a lifetime of good suggestions, and he had learned that her advice was usually worth taking.

Still, it was not as though he was incapable of disagreeing with her—or lying to her, if that became necessary.

Valerie irritated him. He found her vulgar language and brash sense of humor particularly grating. On top of that, she’d inserted herself into his circle of advisors using vague invocations of Jacob’s authority and she had somehow decided that she’d stay in his home while they prepared a plan. She was completely unavoidable, and she did not share his manners or his calculated approach to leadership. It distracted him from the work he needed to do before he could leave.

She seemed anxious to get back to the survivor’s camp, but he needed more time.

“Is the person you are pretending to be not capable of surviving in that jungle, alone?” he’d asked pointedly.

“Not indefinitely. I’d rather not strain credulity.”

“Three weeks?”

“One—the clock is ticking on that tumor of yours.”

“Two—I need more time to manage this from our end.”

“Fine, but we have to make it look like it was a rough two—for both of us.”

“What do you have in mind?”

Valerie made the point that a doctor would be able to detect if all of the little injuries caused by a stretch of surviving in the jungle had really all happened at the same time. She suggested that they would need to gradually build enough scrapes and bruises over the course of the two weeks to be convincing.

She’d invited him to help her accumulate a believable set of injuries, and he did so with some degree of enthusiasm.

She’d scouted out a hill just east of the Barracks and cleared away any sticks or rocks that could cause serious damage. “You should do it when I don’t exp—”

He gave her a forceful shove and she tumbled down the hillside, swearing as she hit the rougher bits. At the bottom of the hill she sat up and looked back up at him.

“You don’t have to look so fucking happy about it,” she’d shouted back up at him, brushing dirt off her top and stretching out her shoulder.

He raised an eyebrow and shrugged.

She looked at him for a moment, then cracked a smile, snorting with laughter. He didn’t understand what she found so funny.

She’d refused to help him with his _own_ injuries, so he’d resorted to bruising himself, occasionally drafting a reluctant Richard to do the job.

“Are you sure this makes sense, Benjamin?” Richard asked him one evening, extending his hand after having knocked Ben forcefully to the ground.

Ben took it, pulling himself to his feet. He shook his head. “What I hate most about this plan is that it’s more or less what I would have come up with. I suppose I wouldn’t risk joining them alone—perhaps not as one of them. But sympathetic—injured—playing on their foolish desire to help? With the credibility of a woman that some of them are bound to recognize from the plane? It has a certain appeal.”

“Why isn’t she helping you with this part?”

“She says she can’t hurt me.”

“A rule from Jacob?”

“She didn’t say—she’s frustrating in that way.”

Some of Ben’s frustration stemmed from the way Valerie managed to stay a couple steps ahead of him—it was her apparent ability to predict his choices that annoyed him the most. She always seemed to know what he was going to propose—preempting his idea of using the balloonist’s professional life as inspiration, for example.

“You’re Swiss, _Dean Moriarty_ , per your passport. Something in finance would seem more appropriate than mining in Minnesota—no? How about a senior investment analyst for Credit Suisse? You might work mostly in New York.”

“And you?”

“I’m a lawyer.”

“That’s a tricky profession to lie about, you realize,” he informed her. “Many people interact with lawyers enough to call out a fake.”

“How do you know I’m not actually a lawyer?”

“Are you?” he asked quickly, sensing the opportunity to gather more information about who she really was.

“Do you want to see my bar license, asshole?” she answered mockingly.

“Where are you barred, _Audrey_?” he quizzed.

“California—three-day bar exam. It was a living nightmare. Waived into New York. Practiced securities litigation and white-collar criminal defense—which is how I met you, _darling._ It was so lovely to meet another Swiss ex-pat in New York. And although it was a severe breach of professional ethics for me to agree to dinner with you, you were just _so_ brilliant—I couldn’t resist your charms.”

He rolled his eyes.

“The strain of our exhausting corporate existence has taken a toll on our marriage, however,” she continued with feigned sincerity. “All those eighty-hour weeks sap the fun right out of it—only three years and yet we’d already started to wonder if we’d made the right choice. You suggested a vacation, and I thought backpacking in New Zealand would be a great way to reconnect. Minimalistic—rugged. A bit of romance. Then we found out about the tumor and decided to push the trip up before it wouldn’t be possible.”

He was annoyed by how much he liked the story. It had just enough emotional struggle to generate sympathy—and just enough greed to make their personas believably human.

“Our flight route would be Christchurch, Sydney, LAX, JFK,” he added. “We couldn’t be seated together on the flight home because we had to reschedule after one of my appointments was shuffled to be a few days sooner.”

“Perfect,” she agreed with a sly smile.

There was something condescending in the way she said it that rubbed him the wrong way. He scowled at her.

“I’m so _glad_ we could agree,” he said with a hint of sarcasm. 

“Go fuck yourself, Linus,” she retorted sharply—obviously catching the mockery in his tone. “You have no idea what I have sacrificed to help you.”

He did not appreciate the language, and his irritation quickly bubbled over into anger. She’d been getting on his nerves for days—so insolent and pleased with herself. He clenched his jaw, deciding whether or not she needed to learn a lesson. He decided that she did, and he slapped her forcefully across the mouth.

She barely flinched. She blinked deliberately, then looked back up at him, her expression mildly surprised but unemotional.

Out of nowhere he felt her kick his feet out from under him—she punched him in the stomach on his way down, and quickly pinned him in a chokehold once he hit the ground.

She held him long enough to make her point, then let him go.

He jumped back to his feet, sputtering.

“You don’t know me, Benjamin,” she told him coldly, her voice flat. “You think I should be scared of you because you’re in charge, and because you’ve done a few terrible things. But I’m not.”

He took an involuntary step back.

“You don’t have the slightest idea what I’m capable of. I am here to help _you_. You can fuck with me all you want—mock me, kick me to the ground—it doesn’t matter. I will do what I’ve come here to do. But don’t for a second think that you _frighten_ me—you don’t. There is nothing on this Island that scares me, Ben—not you, not the smoke, not Jacob. Do you understand?”

He nodded slowly. He was starting to see why Jacob would choose her for the task at hand, though this new side of her cast her usual snarky impudence in a different light. He didn’t know how much of that was real—but it was either her humor that was a bit of an act, or this cold viciousness, and the efficient beatdown he’d just received suggested that the latter was not entirely a performance.


	4. Before the Dawn

**Chapter 4: Before the Dawn**

Ben continued receiving regular reports from his spies on the survivors’ progress. Ethan’s group was considerably larger—the tail section of the plane, where Goodwin had installed himself, had crashed into the ocean, leaving fewer passengers alive.

In Ethan’s group, the doctor had emerged as a leader—he’d grown close to a woman who appeared to have been in the custody of a marshal on the flight, though it was unclear if the doctor was aware of that fact. There was an Iraqi man with an interesting set of skills, and the pregnant girl—Claire—had grown close to a musician, who appeared to be keeping a close eye on her.

The boy Walt interested Ben as well. As Valerie had alluded to, he seemed to have some unique qualities that had the potential to prove valuable. But she’d expressly indicated that Walt was off limits—and while he was willing to push some of her boundaries, he was hesitant to cross that line if it was not what Jacob wanted.

After a week or so, Ethan’s group had split—several of them had moved their camp to caves some ways into the jungle. They’d done it to be closer to a water supply—but those still yearning for rescue had lingered on the beach.

Ben communicated none of this to Valerie. She didn’t seem that curious about what was happening among the passengers—she was primarily concerned with Ben’s health, and the credibility of the story they were building. He wasn’t sure if it was because she didn’t care, or because there wasn’t anything he could tell her that she didn’t already know.

Two nights before they had planned to leave, Ben intercepted Juliet on her walk home. There were some things that he needed to resolve with her before he left.

“Juliet,” he called after her.

She turned to face him. “Ben,” she replied curtly.

“Tomorrow is my last night here—for a while at least. I’d like to have dinner with you, if you don’t object.”

She frowned at him. She had every reason to object.

“Consider it an apology,” he pleaded, “I have not been fair to you lately.”

“Will anyone else be there?”

“I’d prefer to talk privately—but I understand if you’re not comfortable with that.”

She seemed taken aback by his willingness to be accommodating.

“It’s not a date,” he added firmly. “It’s a meeting.”

“Fine,” she agreed, shaking her head slightly.

“Thank you, Juliet,” he said, and turned back towards home.

He’d felt quite strongly about Juliet. She was a strong-minded woman, very beautiful, and very kind. Kind—but not meek. He’d wanted so badly for her to see something in him—to be impressed by the world he ruled here—but she never was.

The infatuation had, fortunately, begun to pass. It had started to fade when the plane crashed—a realization he’d come to with some relief. He did still need to keep her on the Island—but not for himself.

“I’m having Juliet over for dinner tomorrow,” he called to Valerie when he walked through the door.

“Oh?” she asked, emerging from his office in what appeared to be one of his shirts, and nothing else.

“Why aren’t you wearing pants?” he asked, exasperated.

She shrugged. “It’s warm. Anyway, you have a date tomorrow?”

“It’s not a date—she’s not—”

“Oh I know,” Valerie replied, plucking a single piece of celery out of the fridge. She took a bite of it. “She’s fucking Goodwin,” she continued while chewing.

He winced at the choice of words, but she’d made his point for him. “Exactly.”

“But you _like_ her,” she told him, pointing the celery in his direction.

He put his hands in his pockets and stared at her.

“What?” she asked, feigning innocence.

He thought of a dozen things to tell her. “Nothing,” he said instead. “Is that—is that my shirt?”

“Yeah,” she answered, taking another bite of celery.

“Please finish chewing before you continue,” he instructed.

“I’ve got to get into the wife mindset,” she said with her mouth full, waving the celery stalk around.

He pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Do you want help with the dinner?” She asked seriously.

“Help?”

“Cooking it.” She opened the fridge again. “You’ll need to make her something really special so that she misses you,” she added mockingly.

“Are you _jealous_?” he asked suddenly.

“Of course, Dean darling,” she answered. “Don’t you understand? You’re _mine_.”

He didn’t know what to say to that. She started laughing.

“Sure, you can help,” he agreed, in spite of himself. “But please make yourself scarce. I do need to talk to her.”

She smirked at him. “Yes dear.”

He rolled his eyes as she disappeared back into his study.

He peeked in Alex’s room on his way to bed. She wasn’t there. He knew that she was at _that age_ , and the dangers of that here were orders of magnitude greater than they were elsewhere. But if he went out looking for her, she’d only grow more resentful.

He sighed. She was the only one here he’d really miss.

Alex said a sullen good morning to him the next day, then disappeared out the front door before they could have a chat. He knew that she hated him for the way that he tried to control her—he just hoped it was in the way that all children hate their parents at that age, and nothing more.

Valerie woke up late and fussed over dinner with him for most of the afternoon. There was something unnerving about the way that she moved through his kitchen—grabbing spices and utensils with unthinking ease.

She argued gently with him about how much salt to use—firmly suggested adding cinnamon to the spice rub for the roast chicken and rosemary to the potatoes—nudged him out of the way to put things in the sink.

 _The wife mindset_ , he realized. He smirked to himself.

“What?” she asked, noticing his expression.

“I see what you’re doing.”

“What’s that?”

“Getting into character.”

She laughed, drying her hands on a dishrag. She pursed her lips. “Sure,” she said, the laughter in her eyes disappearing into a tight smile.

Juliet arrived a little early—anxious to get the dinner over with, Ben assumed.

“Valerie, did you help him make all this?” she asked, looking at the spread of food on the table.

Valerie nodded.

“And you’re not going to stay?” Juliet asked—almost plaintively.

“I’ve been asked to make myself scarce,” she explained, tilting her head at Ben.

“Ah,” Juliet replied simply. “We’ll save some for you,” she offered.

“Don’t worry about me.” She winked at Ben and slipped out the front door. He rolled his eyes.

“She likes you,” Juliet said, sitting down at the table.

“She’s acting,” Ben explained, sitting across from her. “She’s quite good at it. It’s honestly rather disconcerting.”

“You don’t think some of it is real?”

“No. She’s given me a glimpse into who she really is. She’s more dangerous than she appears. I don’t trust her.”

“Well you’re famously trusting, so that says a lot,” Juliet muttered to herself.

He raised an eyebrow but held his tongue.

He served her a plate of food and they ate quietly for a moment.

“Juliet.”

She looked up at him, a challenge in her eyes.

“I need to apologize.”

“Well then go ahead.”

He huffed a bit at her insolence, but—in fairness—he’d earned it.

“I’ve been selfish,” he began. He’d rehearsed this little speech in his head a few times, wanting to get the words just right. “I know you are anxious to leave, and I’ve been finding reason after reason for you to stay. I wanted you to _want_ to stay—but it’s become clear to me that will never happen. I’m not happy about that, but I understand. I am sorry for the way I have tried to control you.”

Juliet tried to hide her surprise at his candid self-awareness. There was still a guarded caution in her expression—she correctly anticipated that there was a catch to all this.

“I need you to stay a little while longer,” he continued. “Then you can go home. I promise.” His judgment was no longer clouded, but he did need her expertise here—at least for a while.

“A little longer?”

“Until I get back—and the surgery is done. I don’t trust anyone else to help with that.”

“And?”

“And in the meantime, I want you to be in charge—of the project, and of working with the survivors—liaising with Ethan and Goodwin. All of that.”

“Me?”

“Richard and Tom will handle the rest—but yes, you. You are the best person for the job.” He knew that conceding his own failings while trusting her with a bit more power would go a long way towards convincing her to give him more time.

She smiled cautiously—obviously suspicious of his motives. “It’s her, isn’t it?”

“Her?”

“Valerie.”

“No—none of this was her idea.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Juliet replied with a smile. “This is excellent, by the way,” she said, taking a bite of the chicken.

***

While Ben and Juliet shared dinner, Valerie wandered the barracks. She _was_ a bit jealous of Juliet—not because of Ben, but because she was so _hungry_. She couldn’t be eating three course dinners while desperately trying to survive in the jungle, so she had been subsisting on snacks. That roast chicken was one of her favorite meals—particularly with her improved recipe, and she just wanted to eat the whole thing. Spending all day working on it only to leave before dinner was its own form of torture.

She found herself sitting on the swing set, staring at the stars.

“Lonely night?” a familiar voice intoned from behind her.

“Hi Richard,” she replied without turning around. “He’s having dinner with Juliet—saying goodbye—or dumping her—not entirely clear.”

He laughed a little and sat on the swing next to hers.

“You ready for tomorrow?” he asked gently.

“We’re as ready as we’re going to be,” she replied. “You talked to Jacob lately?”

“I have,” he replied slowly. “Strangely, he didn’t mention you.”

Valerie sensed that he was testing her. “Well we both know that’s not how talking to him works.”

“No,” Richard agreed. He stared her down for a moment, squinting at her. She got the sense that he was trying to figure out what it was about her that bothered him so much. “You’re not who you say you are,” he said finally. It wasn’t a question.

She smiled knowingly at him. “No,” she agreed, “I’m not.”

He nodded. “You understand that I don’t trust you.”

“I understand. But our interests align at the moment. I’m not trying to hurt him.”

“That much I believe.”

“You’ll take care of things here, I assume?”

“That’s the plan.”

“Keep an eye on Alex, would you? She’s the only thing he really cares about.”

“Apart from himself,” Richard added.

“Yes,” she agreed wryly. “Apart from himself.”


	5. One of Them

**Chapter 5: One of Them**

Valerie returned to the house just as Juliet was leaving. She could see Ben through the window, cleaning up in the kitchen.

She smiled curtly at Juliet, expecting to avoid a conversation. Juliet reached out and grabbed her wrist.

“Thank you,” she said.

“Why?”

“He’s different—I’m not quite sure, exactly—you’ve changed him.”

“I haven’t done anything, honestly,” Valerie said, shaking her head.

“I think you’ve put him in his place,” she said, laughing. “Someone needed to do it.”

Valerie smiled and glanced back at Ben. She could tell that he’d positioned himself to hear the conversation. “Maybe.”

“You don’t know him like I do,” Juliet explained. “He’s not usually this easygoing.”

Valerie chuckled. “Oh, I know.” She opened the front door and stepped inside, still laughing to herself. “Have a good night, Juliet.”

“What was that about?” Ben asked as she stepped into the kitchen.

She picked a piece of cold chicken from the carving board and ate it slowly—savoring every bite.

“I don’t know what you said to her, but she doesn’t hate you anymore—not as much, anyway.”

“I gave her a little leash.”

“What a tasteful analogy.”

“You know what I mean.”

Valerie raised her eyebrows at him and took another piece of chicken. “It’s even good cold,” she announced as she chewed, and walked out of the kitchen.

***

The next morning, Ben stopped Alex before she could head out the door. He’d tried his best to put that awful dream out of his mind, but he’d had it several times since, and hadn’t been able to shake it.

He’d told her that they were going to gather information on the survivors—that some of them may be of interest to Jacob. This was partially true, of course. He hadn’t told her about the tumor—she didn’t need to worry.

“Alexandra.”

“What?” she answered, obviously annoyed.

“I’m leaving today—we won’t be back for some time.”

“I know.”

“I just want—” he hesitated.

“What?” she said again, rolling her eyes at him.

He frowned. The words were hard for him to say. “I want you to know that everything I do, I’ve done to keep you safe. I know you hate me for it—but I just want to protect you.”

“I don’t hate you,” she replied quickly.

“Listen, I’ve never been a very good father, but—”

“That’s not true, dad,” she interrupted, stepping closer to him. “I just wish you would trust me. I’m not a little kid anymore—I’m good at a lot of things. I can handle myself.”

He nodded, a bit misty-eyed.

“Oh my god, are you _crying_?”

“Of course not,” he lied, and hugged her tightly. She hugged him back.

“Why are you being so weird?” she asked, pulling away. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing—I just don’t know when I’ll be back. And I want you to stay safe.”

“Fine! I will. I promise.”

“Good.”

“And dad,” she called over her shoulder as she ran out the door, “I love you too.”

He smiled, in spite of himself.

Valerie emerged from his study, dressed in the same dirty clothes she’d arrived in. She had been careful to avoid interacting with Alex. She seemed to understand that what Alex needed most these days was space, and that she had no interest in being forced to speak with the strange outsider holed up in her house.

“That was nice,” she told him.

“It’s not polite to eavesdrop,” he chastised.

“I’m not sure if you’ve noticed this, but I’m not actually very polite.”

“Mm,” he agreed. “I guess we’d better get going, _Audrey_ ,” he added.

She nodded. “I’ll miss running water and sleeping inside, but the sooner we leave, the sooner we can come back.” She reached into her pocket. “Before I forget,” she said, holding out her hand, “this is for you.”

It was a simple gold band—a little tarnished by time. He slipped it on and started at his hand, fascinated by the way it looked on his finger. He looked up and noticed Valerie snickering at him. “What?”

“Wrong hand,” she told him, amused. She took his right hand and pulled off the ring, slipping it onto his left ring finger. It fit perfectly. “There.”

He frowned at her, pulling his hand away. She grinned back impishly.

They changed into the clothes they’d strategically destroyed and dirtied their skin. Valerie’s backstory—a backpacking trip to New Zealand—allowed them to bring some supplies along. Ben already owned a backpack that closely matched Valerie’s—likely not a coincidence, he knew. He packed a first aid kit, water bottles and a couple changes of clothes—dirty enough to seem worn, but ready to be washed.

Valerie had a small two-person tent. He was not looking forward to sharing it with her, but he’d survived worse.

He had a few brief but necessary conversations with Richard, Tom, and Juliet, and then headed out.

Richard drove them to the perimeter and shot a knowing look at Valerie as they crossed over. She nodded back, and she and Ben took off into the jungle.

Ben made some point of leading the way, even though Valerie obviously knew where she was going.

They moved quickly, not wasting much time on conversation. They slept briefly inside a banyan tree, not bothering with the tent.

The next day, Valerie insisted on getting into character. He was not interested in this game, feeling that they had done enough preparation, and that there was no need to waste energy talking.

She, in turn, became aggravated with his unwillingness to participate.

“Audrey, _darling_ ,” he began, sneering at her, “would you do me a favor and shut your mouth for a minute?”

“Look, you don’t have to like me,” she retorted “but you at least have to pret—

There was a snapping sound, and suddenly she was trapped in a rope net, hanging from a tree.

Ben looked up at her, hands on his hips. “You were saying?”

“God damnit. Is this one of Rousseau’s traps?”

“It would appear so.” He didn’t recall discussing Rousseau with Valerie, but he wasn’t surprised that she knew about the French woman when she’d known about Karl.

“Oh, for _fuck’s_ sake.”

Ben winced. “It will take a while to get you down safely. If she comes back and finds us—”

“I know. She’ll kill you.” Valerie sighed. “I guess you should keep going—head to the camp. Act as though we haven’t found each other.”

“How will you get out?”

“I’ll figure it out.”

“Are you sure?”

She nodded “I guess.”

He started walking, without hesitation.

“We could sell an emotional reunion.” She called after him.

He kept walking.

“Or at least one of us could,” she added.

He looked over his shoulder and smirked at her, obviously pleased to be free of her company.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

***

She was stuck up there for the rest of the day. It was a long time to be alone with her thoughts—and she didn’t like where her mind went.

She should have known better than to think Linus would be even remotely agreeable in this situation. He really seemed to dislike her personally, which was made this even more difficult to deal with. Beyond that, she was certain that he was plotting some way to undermine her plans, or some way to take advantage of what she knew.

She didn’t trust him.

A noise in the bushes interrupted her train of thought. A woman emerged, holding a long rifle.

“Danielle? Danielle Rousseau?” Valerie asked, in a crisp French accent.

“Who are you?” Rousseau asked, aiming the gun up at her. “I saw you with him.”

“Je m’appelle Valérie.”

Rousseau frowned skeptically. “Venez-vous de l’avion? Vous êtes d’où?”

“Oui—et je suis Canadienne."

Rousseau raised the rifle at her again.

“Il faut que vous m’écoutiez. Je sais qu’ils ont pris Alex quand elle n’était ni plus qu’un bébé. Mais c’est pas si simple—l’homme qui elle a prit—il devait le faire—il y’avait un autre homme qui voulait qu’il la tuerait—qu’il tuerait vous deux. Voler Alex—c’était ce qu’il devait faire pour la sauver.”

Rousseau listened dispassionately to her plea. Valerie worried that her French was a bit too rusty for her to be effectively persuasive.

“Laissez-moi ici. C’est tout ce que je demande.”

Rousseau looked her over slowly. Valerie was certain she had not been convinced.

A rustling in the woods interrupted her train of thought.

Danielle held up her rifle and aimed at the rustling bushes.

A middle eastern man with chin length curly hair emerged, his hands in the air. “Don’t shoot!”

The man was Sayid, Valerie guessed. He was flanked by a brown-haired woman and a bald man—Kate and John, she surmised.

Rousseau looked at the group of survivors and back up at Valerie.

“Don’t trust her,” Rousseau told them. “She’ll lie. She’s one of them.”

“She was on the plane with us,” Kate interjected. “She’s one of us.”

“She’ll lie for a long time,” Danielle warned. “She’ll lie for him. Don’t trust either of them.”

With her rifle still aimed at Sayid, she backed away into the bushes.

The waited a while, guns still aimed at the trees, until they were sure she was gone.

“I take it you’ve met the local?” Valerie shouted down at the survivors.

“We’ve been acquainted,” Sayid replied.

They got to working on the ropes that would lower Valerie to the ground. John stared up at her with his hands in his pockets. She found it unnerving.

Eventually, they managed to get the net back down to earth without too much trouble. Kate put a comforting arm around Valerie.

“I’m Kate,” she said softly. “You’re Audrey, right? You were on the beach—you gave Jack your husband’s passport and took off.”

“Yeah—he hasn’t shown up at the beach yet, has he?” She asked, her voice pleading. “I left his passport with Jack, just in case—” she let her voice choke up “in case he washed up.”

“No sign of him—I’m so sorry,” Kate answered.

“Fuck,” she said quietly, wiping her eyes. “I’ve been wandering out here—I don’t know how long it’s been. I’ve been trying to find him. I found some fresh water and I stayed there for a while. I haven’t eaten much.”

She knew the story had holes, but if they knew she had been on the plane, they’d be inclined to believe her.

“I just keep hoping I’ll find him.”

Kate and Sayid looked at each other—obviously wondering how to convince her that her husband was dead.

“It was stupid to go looking for him—if I died out in the middle of the jungle—I didn’t think, I just ran.”

“Not going to argue with that,” Kate said with a smile.

They walked slowly in the direction of the beach camp. Valerie made an effort to seem weak and pained. She gritted her teeth and held on to branches of the trees they passed, taking deep wavering breaths every once in a while. It was not over the top, she hoped, but it would be enough to make the point.

John walked behind the three of them, conspicuously silent. Valerie glanced over her shoulder at him a few times, catching his eye with every glance. He appeared lost in thought, but he was staring right at her.

Eventually he spoke.

“Why did the French woman tell us you were one of them?”

“What?”

“She said that you were one of _them_ and you would lie. Who are _they_? Who are you?”

“John!” Kate interrupted.

“I don’t know,” Valerie replied cautiously. “We spoke a bit. She was saying something about her daughter. I have no idea. Who is she?”

“We’re not sure,” Sayid replied, before John could speak. “She seems to have been here for a while. As best as we can tell, she was part of some sort of scientific exploratory mission that went awry. She’s been alone here for years—decades maybe.”

“That’s terrifying,” Valerie replied. “If no one has ever found _her_ —”

“There are a lot more of us,” Kate jumped in, “and we have more resources. We’ll find a way off this island.”

“I hope you’re right,” Valerie lied.

It was night when they reached the camp. A bonfire was roaring on the beach. Valerie could make out Sawyer lounging against a piece of fuselage, and Walt playing with Vincent in the sand.

Jack emerged from the shadows, grinning broadly, mostly at Kate.

“Look what we found,” she told him, before he could speak.

“Audrey, I can’t believe it!” Jack turned and started pointing at a figure standing quietly by the fire. “Dean found us this afternoon, he’s—”

Valerie started running before he could finish the sentence. She felt that it was important to sell the moment, and so she drew on every ounce of grief and passion that she’d been burying for the last two weeks.

He noticed her running towards him, and his eyes widened in momentary surprise. She launched herself at him, wrapping her arms around his chest and planting her face into the side of his neck.

She sobbed violently, clutching at his shirt and breathing him in.

“You’re alive,” she whispered throatily, just loud enough for the people nearby to hear her.

He leaned back to look her in the eyes, and all he could muster was a mute nod. She wasn’t sure if he was unsure of how to react, or just caught off guard by her vivid expression of emotion.

He took her face in his hands and stared at her for a moment, then pulled her into his chest, clutching her hair in his hands and kissing her forehead. She sighed into his chest—genuine relief. He had pulled it off.


	6. Reconnaissance

**Chapter 6: Reconnaissance**

The next several days were an exhausting blur. There had been a rift in the group of survivors a week earlier over whether to move to the caves—which offered a source of fresh water and shelter from the heat—or remain on the beach to maximize the chances of a rescue.

Audrey and Dean had stayed on the beach at first. Valerie’s tent provided a source of shade and privacy, and when Ben had noted that it would be wise to spend time establishing some relationships here, before moving to the caves, she had agreed.

There was an art to this, and she knew he was better at it than almost anyone. Jack was their target—immediately clinging to him would reek of an ulterior motive. They needed to work their way in to Jack from other angles.

“You should start with Kate,” he suggested.

“Okay,” she agreed. His expression told her that he had been expecting an argument. “What?”

“I thought you might disagree.”

“I trust your judgement,” she replied. In truth, she’d thought the same thing, but it was important to let Ben feel in control—at least occasionally. “I’m just glad you didn’t want me to make friends with the pregnant girl,” she added.

“Oh?”

“I don’t do babies.”

“No?” He didn’t seem all that surprised.

She shook her head so quickly it was almost a shudder. “Not my thing. Or kids.”

“Hm,” he acknowledged, but didn’t follow up.

It was easy for her to build a rapport with Kate. As the one who had found her, it made sense that Kate would be the one Audrey felt most comfortable with, especially at first. They also appeared to be about the same age, and Kate had a sense of lawlessness that Valerie found easy to relate to.

Through Kate, she gained access to both Jack and Sawyer—both men were clearly interested in Kate, though Jack wouldn’t admit it to Kate, and Sawyer wouldn’t admit it to himself.

Sawyer, in spite of his aggressively apathetic façade, quickly became Valerie’s favorite person to waste time with. Due to his sense of humor—or perhaps his unwillingness to learn anything new—he had given just about everyone a nickname. Ben—who spent much of his time reading and wore his round little glasses while doing so—was creatively nicknamed ‘Glasses.’

Valerie had been designated ‘Wednesday’—presumably because her big brown eyes and grim attitude reminded him of Wednesday Addams. Sawyer seemed to like her—or Audrey—quite a bit. She felt that he appreciated her cynical sense of humor and the way she seemed impervious to his bullshit.

His affection for her was, however, unquestionably platonic. She could tell that he sensed kindred spirit in her—so much so that he’d wondered if she was running a con on her husband.

When he’d put his theory to her, she’d laughed in his face.

“What’s in it for you, then?” He asked, certain that there was something unusual about their marriage.

“What do you mean? I love him.”

He squinted at her. “But _why_?”

They watched Ben from a distance as he paced back and forth, glowering at his surroundings.

“Can I be honest?”

“Won’t you, darling.”  
  
“Oh, fuck off,” she snapped back, playfully punching him in the shoulder. She turned back to Ben. “I guess I just like the way his mind works,” she said with a wistful smile.

“Ugh, you _do_ love him,” Sawyer announced. “Here I was hoping you’d be counting down the days until he eats it."

Her face changed immediately. Tears formed in her eyes. “Not at all,” she said, choking down a slight sob. She hoped that her intense reaction would pique his curiosity.

“Oh Wednesday—I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s okay, James—” she shook her head. “Just don’t joke about that. Please.”

He frowned at her, but he didn’t ask her to elaborate.

After that, Sawyer was careful not to tease her about Dean anymore. He and Valerie continued their routine of watching in amusement as the other survivors made futile attempts to communicate with the outside world or escape.

Kate, unlike Sawyer, felt compelled to keep everyone alive. She got help from Valerie once in a while. Valerie even dragged Ben along occasionally—on their less arduous errands—to help ingratiate him to Kate and, by extension, Jack.

Ben, for his part, waited for people to come to him. Valerie’s earliest efforts had been worth something. Thanks to Jack, enough people had heard about the panicked woman who had run off looking for her husband. That they had both survived to be reunited was, to some, a miracle. To those desperately looking for a miracle, their story offered some much-needed hope.

Many survivors were drawn in by that sense of hope—and Ben’s strange magnetism. People were curious about him—and once they initiated a conversation, he had them wrapped around his finger.

Locke was particularly curious about the man named Dean, though Valerie suspected it had more to do with what Rousseau had said in the woods than anything else. She’d warned Ben that Locke would be looking for inconsistencies, but she trusted Ben to handle him. The two of them got on well, and they often went for long walks into the jungle together. She could only guess what they got up to, but she didn’t let herself get too concerned.

Ben seemed to get along well with Hurley too, which Valerie was pleased to see. Hurley was a genuinely kind person. He was bound to be a good influence on Ben, given enough time.

Valerie’s only worry came from the relationship he seemed to be building with Michael—not out of concern for Ben, but for what Ben might be planning.

“It’s a contingency,” he explained when she confronted him about it. They were on their nightly walk down the beach—the only opportunity they had to freely discuss their progress.

She blinked at him deliberately. “Why?”

“Why have a backup plan?”

“No—why _him_?”

Ben shrugged noncommittally.

“Linus,” she hissed, briefly breaking her own rule of only using their assumed names. “Walt is off limits. _Strictly_ off limits.”

“The lengths people will go to for their children, Valerie—it’s a powerful motivator. You wouldn’t understand.”

She laughed involuntarily. “Oh— _believe_ me—I understand.”

“Then what is the problem?”

“He’s special.”

“Michael?”

“Walt. He’s unique—we talked about this. Nothing can happen to him.”

“Nothing will, I promise.”

She scrunched her face at him skeptically. “Will it though?”

“I won’t harm him under any circumstances.”

She frowned at him. She knew Ben wouldn’t hurt a child, but the fact that he was already zeroing in on Michael made her uncomfortable.

“Think of it this way, _darling_ ,” he instructed, his voice rich with condescension, “if your plan works, there will be no need for a contingency, will there?”

She sighed. “Provided you don’t get impatient,” she countered.

“I would rather not have to coerce anyone,” he replied. “I would also rather not be left without a plan B.”

“Fine!” she agreed, exasperated. She turned her head to the sky. “Fuck you for sending me here!” she said to no one in particular. “He’s even more of an asshole than you said he’d be—I honestly don’t know why I’m surprised.”

Ben shrugged at her. “Do you really think he can hear you?”

She glared at him for a moment, her eyes cutting into his stare. “Oh, he can hear me,” she answered bluntly, then turned to walk back to their tent.

***

Ben woke with a gasp in the middle of the night, sitting up immediately. He’d had the dream again. He’d watched that man put a bullet in his daughter’s head. He’d seen it happen so many times now that he thought he would become numb to it, but somehow each gunshot was louder than the last.

Valerie reached over and touched his arm. “Was that about Alex?” she asked, mumbling through her grogginess.

He frowned at her.

“You were talking in your sleep,” she explained, before he could ask how she knew. “It was just a dream.”

His brows creased, and he pursed his lips skeptically.

“Go back to sleep, Linus,” she murmured. “It was just a dream.”

He leaned back down. She frowned at him with obvious concern.

“What?”

“Nothing,” she replied drowsily. She sighed and rolled away from him. “Go back to sleep, hon.”

The ease with which she feigned familiarity made him uncomfortable—as did the fact that she insisted on maintaining the charade of intimacy whenever they were within earshot of the survivors. He struggled to reciprocate, though he certainly performed better with an audience than he did when they were alone.

He understood why it was wise never to stop the act. Any hint of phoniness could unravel the plan. But she hadn’t missed a beat—not one. It unnerved him. She was a better liar than he was—more credible, more natural. It gave him pause.

Around the others, though, her acting abilities were an undeniable asset.

The next day she approached him with a smile in the middle of a conversation he was having with Hugo. He expected her to interrupt them, but she wordlessly pulled two bottles of water from her bag and handed one to him and the other Hugo. She kissed the top of his head, lightly squeezed his shoulder, and walked back to the group.

“How’d you get so lucky, dude?”

“I’m afraid I’m not sure what you mean, Hugo.”

“You know—how’d a guy like you end up with her?”

“Like me?”

It took a moment for Hurley to even realize what he had implied. “No, not like that!” he sputtered, embarrassed. “Just like, how did you meet? You’re so different.”

Ben thought about it before responding. “She seemed to appear out of nowhere, one day. In an instant I went from very much alone to constantly in her presence. And every day since she’s been a central part of my life. I couldn’t explain it to you.”

“That’s really sweet, dude.”

Ben smirked, pleased at how easily he’d twisted the truth. “And for the record, I’m not sure we’re all that different.”

“You are lucky though, man. She really loves you.”

“Why do you say that?”

Hurley looked startled by the question.

“I’m curious,” Ben clarified, “what makes it so obvious?”

“Well I mean—she’s married to you, dude. But, like, it’s in the eyes—you can’t fake that.”

He glanced over at the woman. She did have a way of looking at him that he found intensely unsettling.

It wasn’t the frequency with which she looked at him. That was unsettling in its own way, but understandable given that she was supposed to be keeping an eye on him. It was the looks themselves. Sometimes her gaze cut through him like a knife, piercing through his layers of defenses—seeing his vulnerabilities in ways that no one ever had.

Sometimes the looks weren’t incisive, but soft—caring, forgiving—loving, even. Those looks were uncomfortable as well, in part because she feigned them so easily, and in part because he was so ill-equipped to return them.

Across the beach, Valerie dropped next to Kate on the sand. The group was still recovering from a close encounter with one of the polar bears. There was an instinct to deny the bizarre realities of the island. No one wanted to admit that there was something _different_ about this place—admitting that would mean admitting that help was not on the way.

Sitting on the beach and talking about the mundane things was an escape from the realities that they had to face deeper in the jungle.

They watched together as Ben chatted with Hurley in the shade.

Kate glanced at Ben and back to Valerie, who was staring at him with a particularly adoring look in her eyes. “Audrey, don’t take this the wrong way—but I have to ask—what do you see in him?”

Valerie laughed a little to herself. “You know, Sawyer asked the same thing.”

Kate laughed. “Well Dean is—you know.”

Valerie raised an eyebrow.

“And you are—” she gestured at Valerie “—you know.”

“What?”

Kate struggled to find the right words. “He’s just—not very pleasant. And he’s not—well you’re just—so much better looking than he is. Is that awful?”

Valerie let out a hearty laugh. “I think he’s handsome,” she replied defensively. “I mean—I see what you see—I do, but—"

“—the heart wants what it wants?” Kate said grinning. She looked over at Sawyer.

“I mean it doesn’t always really know what it wants, does it?” Valerie replied, scrunching her nose.

Kate glanced at Jack, half smiling. “I guess not.”

“At least they’re both very good-looking,” Valerie offered.

Kate buried her face in her hands, laughing through her embarrassment.

“The worst part was that I had to try so hard for him to see me as anything other than a friend,” Valerie added, glancing back at Ben. “I don’t think he had really considered that I might have something different in mind until I made it _very_ obvious.”

“ _That_ I believe.”

Valerie laughed. “They’re all idiots.”

Sawyer sauntered over to them, flashing Kate a crooked smile. “Freckles, Wednesday.”

“Speaking of idiots—what can we do for you, James?” Valerie asked, flashing him a grin.

He rolled his eyes at her. “I’d hoped to borrow you for just a minute. It’s about your better half—other half.”

The smirk on her face was quickly replaced by a concerned frown.

“We’ll continue this conversation later,” she told Kate with a wink, and walked off with Sawyer.

“What did he do?” she asked him when they’d walked out of Kate’s earshot.

“It’s not what he did—I was keeping an eye on him, and—"

“You were spying on my husband?”

“ _Spying_ is awfully strong word-wise—observing would be better.”

“Okay, observing. And?”

“He doubled over in pain. He had to sit for a few minutes before he could get up again, and when he did—let’s just say it wasn’t easy to watch.”

Valerie frowned and bit her lip.

“Is something wrong with him, Audrey?”

Sawyer had given her the opportunity to plant the seeds of their con. It was still early, and she wasn’t sure whether or not it was the right time. But he’d given her such an easy opening—and Ben’s pain was very real. The sooner she did something about it, the better. She sighed heavily before answering him.

“You have to promise not to tell anyone—please, James.”

“Tell anyone what?”

“Promise me first—and just know that I’ll give you to Sayid if you tell anyone what I’m about to say.”

“Fine, I promise. What is it?”

“Can I have a cigarette?”

“Whoa now, Wednesday,” he drawled. “These are a precious commodity.”

She stared him down.

He relented, handing her one. She popped it into her mouth and pulled a pack of matches from her pocket. She lit one quickly, holding the flame up to the cigarette and inhaling deeply. She stuffed the matches back in her pocket and exhaled slowly.

“Didn’t know you smoked,” Sawyer noted, surprised.

“Oh, I don’t smoke,” she replied, taking another long drag. She flicked away the ash.

“Well, obviously not,” he joked

“He has cancer,” she said quickly. “A tumor on his spine.”

Sawyer was stunned. “You have to tell the doc!”

“Jack is the _last_ person I would tell.”

“Why? Hell, he’s not just a doctor, he’s a spine doctor!”

“That’s the problem—he’ll think there’s something he can do.” She leaned back and blew smoke up at the sky. “He’ll insist on trying _something_. The man can’t stand to know that there’s someone he could be helping. And there’s nothing he can do—it’s not like there’s an operating room and medical supplies around here. He’d raise Dean’s hopes—convince himself that there’s something to be done, and for what? We’re all going to die here anyway.”

“Well aren’t you just a ray of sunshine?”

“At least now you know why I’m so morose.”

He nodded slowly, unsure of what to say.

“I do really appreciate the concern, James,” Valerie told him, her voice tired. “You’re a better man than you give yourself credit for.” She took a last drag of the cigarette and put it out in the sand.

“You just wait—I’ll prove you wrong,” he replied with a grin, walking back towards the others.

“I’m banking on it,” she muttered under her breath.

She told Ben about the conversation with Sawyer that night in the tent. “Were you hoping someone would notice? Or are you actually in a lot of pain?” she asked in a hushed whisper.

He looked up at her but didn’t respond right away. She tilted her head reproachfully.

“Tell me the truth.”

“It comes and goes,” he answered quickly.

“Yeah,” she sighed, “I know.” She squeezed his forearm—the gesture seemingly unconscious.

He pulled back reflexively.

“Sorry,” she said, turning away from him.

He woke in the middle of the night to Valerie pulling herself into his chest. She rested her head on his shoulder. He looked down at her face, but she didn’t seem to be awake.

He wanted to extract himself from her embrace, but it wasn’t entirely unpleasant, and he knew that waking her might result in more awkwardness than simply letting her be.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled. There was a horrible sadness in her voice—he knew the words must be meant for someone else.

“It’s alright,” he told her, gently patting her shoulder. “It’s alright.”


	7. Inconstant

**Chapter 7: Inconstant**

The weeks that followed were difficult for the survivors as they fought to leave—and to stay alive. Their curiosity often ended in near-misses, and—on occasion—tragedy. They bickered and fought with each other—learning slowly to forgive mistakes and restore trust.

Neither Ben nor Valerie saw a benefit in being directly involved with their little adventures. Ben saw it as risky and out of character for Dean, while Valerie insisted that it was not her place to meddle.

The rumor of Dean’s illness had spread—presumably through Sawyer. Although no one confronted them about the tumor, no one questioned Dean’s need to avoid exertion, or Audrey’s desire to stay close to him.

Locke’s accidental discovery of Swan station brought a renewed sense of fear and hope to the survivors. It also drew Ben closer to Locke. Ben was wary of his interest in the Dharma station and aimed to influence his beliefs about the Island. They shared long conversations about purpose and fate, and Ben carefully attempted to dissuade him from trying to open the hatch.

Ben had been shaken by the revelation that Locke had not been able to walk before the crash—and was struck by the irony of that fact when juxtaposed with his own situation. Part of his friendship with the man stemmed from a compulsion to understand why the Island would restore John’s legs while threatening to take his own.

It was, perhaps, his new friendship with John that led him to be so deeply affected by the accidental death of John’s young protégé, Boone. When the group had brought the dying Boone back to the beach, it was Ben who stopped John from wandering off from the group to let the guilt consume him—convincing him to stay and help Jack try to save the boy.

Valerie noticed that Ben seemed particularly moved by the improvised funeral.

“Did you know?” he whispered to her, as they walked back to their tent.

She shook her head. “Not really.”

“Could you have stopped this? Is this part of Jacob’s plan?”

She shrugged. “Probably. I don’t know.”

Ben scowled at her.

“Are you upset with _me_?”

“He was just a boy.”

“It is tragic,” Valerie agreed unemotionally.

He shook his head and walked off. She wasn’t sure why he expected more emotion from her, or why her callousness irritated him. It was about Alex again, she supposed. Boone was young and thoughtlessly brave, like her. He saw shades of his daughter in the boy.

She sighed. It _was_ sad. But she’d known that many of the survivors would die. If she let it affect her, she wouldn’t be able to do what she came here to do.

After Boone’s death, they moved to the caves.

There, they met Ethan, who had been keeping a low profile. Ben acknowledged him politely but was careful never to speak to him directly.

Valerie was immediately suspicious of Ethan when she heard that Claire had been having nightmares. She couldn’t control everything that Ben did, but she knew about his obsession with the Island’s maternity problem, and she knew he would see Claire’s pregnancy as an inimitable opportunity to solve it.

They were resting in the tent when she decided that she had to confront him about it.

“What are you having Ethan do?” she asked bluntly.

He made some show of bristling at her question, but she stared him down.

“Just tests,” he hissed defensively.

She rolled her eyes. “You’re going to get him killed—and for _nothing_.”

“He knows the risks—risks I’m taking too, I’d remind you.”

“He’s not on the manifest—you _are_. It will take a lot for them to think you might be something other than a passenger. Ethan is at risk the moment anyone questions that. If he gets caught—what do you think they’ll do? All for this pointless endeavor.”

“It’s not pointless—it will save lives.”

“It won’t. You have to give it up—there’s no way to prevent or cure it. The only solution is for pregnant women to leave the Island right away. Claire will be fine—she was what? Seven, eight months when we crashed? Too far along to be at risk.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I _do_ know that. You have to let it go before this goes bad. Between Boone and the hatch, they’re all terrified. If they find out, they’ll kill him. There’s nothing to be gained here. Just let it go.”

“Val,” he snapped, pulling away from her, “this is none of your _fucking_ business.” He unzipped the tent and stormed out.

She was a bit startled. She hadn’t really intended to provoke an emotional outburst, but she sensed an opportunity.

“None of my business?” she shouted, following him out into the clearing.

He waited until she’d caught up to him before responding. “You have no idea what we’ve gone through—the pain that this illness has caused. If there is a chance—any chance—to stop it—”

“No idea?” she asked again, raising her voice. “Are you serious?”

People had been pretending not to notice, but Valerie’s steadily increasing volume made that impossible.

“You’re _dying_ Dean,” she shouted. She noticed Ben’s eyes widen momentarily as he realized what she was doing, then narrow as he wondered whether she’d deliberately goaded him into an argument.

“Be _quiet_ ,” he snapped back.

“I can’t just pretend you’re not—”

“It’s going to be fine.”

“What do you mean, ‘it’s _fine_ ,’ Dean? We’re fucking marooned on an island—it’s been weeks. No one is coming to save us. It’s just going to keep getting worse until—”

“I said it’s _going_ to be fine,” he interrupted. “It’s not fine _now._ ”

“Oh for fuck’s sake—that’s splitting hairs over semantics. You can’t stay in denial! It’s slowly killing you—how long before you can’t walk? And you have the _audacity_ to tell me that I have no idea what you’ve gone through?”

By now most of the survivors had stopped what they were doing to listen to the fight. Ben walked in the direction of the beach, and Valerie followed.

“Don’t walk away from me!” she shrieked at him, tears forming in her eyes. “What about me? I’m losing everything too!”

He stopped and turned around. “You’re being dramatic!” he yelled.

“I don’t want you to die.”

“So what—you want me to ask Jack to operate on me? Lay me out on the beach and cut it out with airplane cutlery?”

“Don’t be an asshole.”

“I’m the one with the tumor on my spine!”

Valerie heard a slight gasp behind her. She smiled just enough for him to notice.

He tilted his head in acknowledgement.

“I’m sorry,” she said calmly, actively looking over her shoulder at their audience. She trotted over to him and dropped her voice to a low but audible whisper. “It’s not your fault—you need some space. I shouldn’t be so selfish.”

He frowned at her and she raised her eyebrow at him. He needed to sell it.

He pulled her into an awkward hug and rested his chin on the top of her head.

“It’s alright,” he told her. “I just need to take a walk.

She noticed him making eye contact with John as he said it. “Alright,” she agreed. “Just—please be careful.”

“I will,” he replied.

“Love you,” she added casually as he walked away. He didn’t seem to hear her.

***

Jack approached Ben while he was sitting with John.

“I couldn’t help but overhear earlier—your tumor.”

“I apologize for my wife’s outburst. She can be a little…”

“She’s a lawyer,” Locke explained. Ben tilted his head and nodded in agreement.

Jack laughed a little.

“Do you mind me asking—how long have you known?”

“Not long—a couple weeks before our trip. I was supposed to have a consult when we got back.”

“In L.A.?”

“New York.”

“Who’s your doctor?”

Ben didn’t feel that Jack was interrogating him—his questions seemed to come from a place of genuine concern—but he didn’t want to give Jack any reasons to be suspicious.

He made some show of trying to remember. “He’s at Mount Sinai—he had a funny name—I can’t remember it exactly. We hadn’t gone to meet him yet. It was the kind of name that should be easy to remember, but—”

“Zossimov?” Jack asked.

“That’s it.”

“He’s good,” Jack said, nodding. “Where’s the tumor, exactly?”

“L4,” Ben said quickly.

“And do you have symptoms yet?”

“Some numbness in my toes—only the last few days. And some pain.”

Jack frowned. “It probably wasn’t a great idea to go on a trip at this stage. I suspect Dr. Z would have scheduled you for surgery fairly quickly.”

“Audrey talked me into it,” he told Jack. “And I wasn’t exactly planning to be in a plane crash,” he added.

Jack chuckled. “Well if there was anything I could do, I would do it. Let me know if you have any other symptoms.”

“Thanks Doc,” Ben said with a broad smile. He looked forward to sharing this development with Valerie. “I appreciate it.”

Jack patted him on the shoulder and walked off.

“Don’t be too hard on your wife,” John advised. “You’re lucky to have someone who cares about you. That’s always a gift. Don’t ruin it.”

Ben looked up sharply. “Speaking from experience, I take it?”

John nodded, confirming Ben’s assumption. “Her name was Helen,” John told him. “I made a mess of things. If we ever get off this rock…” he trailed off. “You’ve managed to fool a beautiful young woman into spending her life with you. Don’t waste that.”

“I’m not sure who fooled who,” he quipped in response.

John flashed him a disapproving look.

“You’re right, of course,” Ben conceded. “I suppose I’ll have to apologize to her later.”

John stared out at the ocean. “Don’t wait too long,” he advised.

***

That night, Valerie woke up with a nosebleed.

She’d been feeling a bit off since the argument with Ben. They hadn’t spoken about it since—in fact, they hadn’t spoken much at _all_ since. She was worried that the maternity issue would be a sticking point. She hadn’t anticipated him getting that angry about it.

She was hit with a wave of nausea.

 _Shit_.

She wiped away the blood on her face and shook him awake.

“Linus,” she muttered urgently, clutching his forearm.

He sat up and looked at her.

“My god, what is happening to you?” he asked, with seemingly genuine concern.

She thought about trying to explain the nature of her illness to him, but now was not the time.

“It’s complicated—I have a predisposition for it.” She shook her head, feeling a deep fatigue. Her mind felt cloudy. “Shit. I’m not supposed to be sick. I can’t do this if I’m sick. This shouldn’t be happening with you here—”

Her words turned to mumbles and she slumped forward, a gush of blood pouring from her face.

“I’m gonna barf,” she told him and fell out of tent, vomiting into the dirt.

“Valerie, this seems serious.” Ben noted, frowning at her. “I’ll find Jack,” he offered

“No, no, not Jack—I need Desmond.”

“Who’s Desmond?”

“The guy in the Swan—we need to open the hatch. The cure is in the Swan.”

She vomited again and tried to stand up, stumbling into the dirt.

The idea of letting her succumb to whatever this was crossed his mind, if only for a moment. It would undoubtedly generate sympathy with the passengers if he lost his wife to a tragic illness. But he believed that she was working in his interests, at least for now, and the cautious choice was clearly to help her—or try to, at least.

He realized the only way to get her to the Swan was to carry her.

He picked her up, hooking one arm under her knees and the other under her armpits. Her head dangled limply over his arm.

Valerie had caused enough of a commotion that other survivors had woken up and were watching him carry her in the direction of the hatch.

Her head shot up and she whispered into his ear. “Tell me you love me—really sell it.”

He admired her commitment to the lie, even while barely conscious.

“I love you,” he said, as sincerely as he could, the words feeling wrong and uncomfortable.

“You have to mean it,” she rasped.

He stopped and looked down at her face—the tired sadness in her eyes, and her long, messy hair. He didn’t love her.

“It’s going to be ok, Val,” he whispered. “We’ll get you to the hatch.”

“Please don’t let me die, Ben,” she whimpered.

Locke had noticed, and had started to follow them.

“What’s wrong with her,” he asked.

“I’m not sure, John,” Ben replied. “She’s out of it—and she keeps talking about the hatch, so I’m going to take her there.” Locke seemed unconvinced. “I think the Island is trying to tell her something,” Ben added, playing on John’s superstitions. Locke’s eyes widened.

“I’ll get the doc,” Locke offered, limping off in the other direction.

Ben set Valerie down on the ground next to the hatch.

She lay belly-down on the ground started banging on it as forcefully as she could.

“Desmond!” she screamed into the metal, “Desmond Hume! It’s Valerie—I need your help.”

Ben absently stroked the back of her head.

John appeared with Jack.

“He said something’s wrong with Audrey—Dean, what is she doing?”

“She woke up in the night with a horrible nosebleed and started vomiting, talking about going to the hatch. She told me _not_ to get you, Jack—I don’t know why.”

“And you listened to her?”

“Shut the hell up, Jack,” Valerie said clearly. Jack appeared startled at her sudden lucidity.

“What does she think she’s doing?” Jack asked Ben.

“I can honestly tell you that I have no idea.”

“Desmond, it’s Valerie. Penny is coming for you.”

A light flicked on.

John and Jack took a step back. Kate appeared behind Jack, and he held his arm in front of her to keep from getting any closer.

“There’s a lot of people here Des, and they aren’t going to understand what’s happening. It’s safe to open the hatch, I promise.”

“Is she talking to someone? Is there someone _in there_?” Kate asked Jack.

“The light just went on,” Jack answered. “But I don’t know if there’s anyone—"

“Who are you?” a Scottish voice asked, muted by the thick metal and panes of glass.

“My name is Valerie—you don’t know me yet, but I know you. I know Penny. I know how much you love her.”

“Why is she saying her name is Valerie,” John asked, shooting a pointed look at Ben.

Ben held his hand up to request silence. “Not now, John.”

The hatch door inched open.

“Don’t worry about them, Desmond. We can keep pushing the button with you, it’s okay.”

Valerie seemed remarkably more alert. Perhaps the cure was the Swan itself.

Desmond threw open the hatch door, dressed in his hazmat suit. He looked intently at Valerie’s face.

“I can’t tell if I know you,” he said simply, ignoring the gathering crowd.

“You do and you don’t,” she said by way of explanation. “Please take me inside. And let him come down with me,” she added, gesturing at Ben.

Desmond eyed Ben with mistrust. “I don’t think I like that man.”

Valerie laughed. “I don’t suppose you do.”

Desmond helped Valerie down into the hatch—but she had recovered enough strength to manage on her own. Ben followed her down. Desmond closed the hatch behind them, sealing it shut.

“What the hell just happened,” Kate said, breaking the stunned silence.

“We’re not alone,” Locke said solemnly. “And I think we’ve been conned.”

***

Things had gotten a little bit out of hand.

Zachary’s illegal import business had not been all that well run. Zach himself wasn’t the problem. He was, ultimately, fairly low in the operation—as much a useful idiot to his higher ups as he was to her. But Zach—along with the other lower-level Oceanic employees he’d brought with him—we critical to their success—and she was stuck with him.

Valerie was primarily valuable to them because of her job, but she was also able to contribute in other ways—she was a strategic thinker, and she understood the game being played. She’d started by making small suggestions here and there, gradually ingratiating herself to Zach’s higher-ups with every improvement.

They saw the value of a corrupt federal prosecutor and engaged her more—knowing that the deeper she was in, the more she would do to protect them.

She’d been aware of what they were doing, but she’d let her worst qualities consume her—growing more ruthless and apathetic each time she pulled something off.

She wasn’t that surprised when it all started to sour. The arrangement was never really tenable, and their little operation was far from the only trans-pacific import business operating out of L.A. The more they were able to grow, the more aggressive the strategy had become—and they’d made some enemies.

Their rivals had, evidently, figured out that the airline was at the center of things, and had started making threats. Valerie had no problem with sneaking contraband past customs—she had major problems with hijackings and bombings. She’d suggested backing off—coming to some kind of truce. She’d pushed her position emphatically. But the decision had been made—leadership was adamant that any sign of weakness would be taken as an invitation to encroach on what was theirs.

Zach had called a meeting with her. He’d chosen a swanky hotel—he’d never stoop to anywhere cheap and sleazy—the benefits of anonymity did not outweigh the optics, in his view. The high-end establishments offered their own sort of anonymity—at a price—and he was willing to pay it.

She wasn’t so confident. She arrived loosely disguised, wearing a blonde wig and big sunglasses. It was ridiculous—but it was enough to render her unrecognizable.

She knocked twice on the door of the hotel room he’d booked.

He opened it wordlessly.

She walked in decisively and took a seat in the lone armchair, slowly crossing her legs, placing her handbag on the floor.

“What do you want, Zach.”

“I’m not sure the blonde suits you,” he noted, smirking a little.

“It doesn’t. I bleached my hair to this stupid color in high school. It was trendy. I looked awful. What do you want?”

“I bet you had Juicy Couture sweatpants and everything.”

“It’s L.A. Of course I did.”

He chuckled to himself.

“Zachary—what is this about?”

“The boss is concerned that you’re not fully on board anymore.”

“I’m not, but—”

“Don’t tell me that—if I can’t convince you, I’m supposed to tell you that we’ll have to tip off the U.S. Attorney’s Office.”

She flinched. “That’s stupid—I’ll just flip. Then none of you will have anything.” She pulled her purse onto her lap. “If that’s where we’re at—I’m out. I’ll tip you off if the bureau ever gets a whiff of what you’re up to, but I’m done.”

“They were worried you’d say that.”

She shrugged. “They could just back off.”

He frowned. “They’re not going to do that. And they have ways of making people bend to their will—but the trouble with you, Valerie, is that they couldn’t find anyone or anything that you cared about enough to use as a threat.”

“I know they didn’t send _you_ to kill me.”

“Whoa now—no one said anything about killing you.”

“Do you see another option?”

He pursed his lips, trying to understand the situation.

“Tell me—are you really okay with the possibility of a planeful of Oceanic passengers dying over some dirty money?”

He shrugged.

“Like I said,” she told him, standing up. “I’m out.”

“I can’t let you leave,” he told her, pulling out his phone.

“What are you doing?”

“Calling the boss.”

Valerie knew what would happen next. Someone would arrive at the hotel room and ask Zach to leave. She’d be dead.

She reached into her purse, pulling out her gun. She’d almost left it at home, but she’d had a bad feeling about Zach’s phone call.

“Put the phone down,” she instructed.

She knew what she was doing. She’d been around guns most of her life—her father had been a collector and had insisted that she learn how to handle a weapon. But she’d never aimed one at a person before.

She thought that she’d feel more anxious—that her hands would be shaking—that she’d be sick to her stomach at the thought of killing a person. But she felt nothing. If anything, she felt deeply calm.

“Whoa—Valerie—putting the phone down.” He dropped it on the bed.

“Sorry buddy,” she said coldly. She pulled the trigger—firing the gun three times into his chest.

With a long enough head start, she could get out of the city—or the country—before they knew she was gone. There was no head start if Zach was alive

A plan was forming in her head—there was a boat in a marina in San Diego. She was the lead attorney investigating its owner for human trafficking and drug running—he was under FBI surveillance—and she knew he’d be in Las Vegas all week. She’d have enough time to pack up her things—and all the cash that she’d squirreled away. She’d have to get a cab to the marina—it would be expensive, but that didn’t mean anything anymore. Stealing the boat would be easy—she knew the codes. They’d shown up in the surveillance of his online accounts—he’d emailed them to himself—4321 and 42069 were not hard to remember.

She glanced down at Zach’s body—slumped in a bloody heap on the floor between the two double beds. There was no point in trying cleaning up—it would only be a matter of time before someone found him—and it wouldn’t take much to figure out that she’d been behind it.

As long as she had time to get to the boat, she’d be alright. She wasn’t exceptionally good at sailing, but she knew the basics. Once she got going—she wasn’t sure what would come next. She didn’t have a particular destination in mind.

She’d just have to leave that part up to chance.


	8. Intra Machina

**Chapter 8: Intra Machina**

Ben watched quietly from the corner as Valerie sat Desmond down in the kitchen. She worked to calm him, softly explaining the true nature of Swan station and reassuring him that he hadn’t been exposed to a virus. With her encouragement, he’d removed the hazmat suit, and he’d started to settle down.

While the illness seemed to have passed, her nosebleed had cost her a lot of blood. She’d tried to wipe the mess from her face with the back of her hand, but she had only succeeded in smearing it around. She looked dreadful.

“You said you know Penny?” Desmond asked, wild-eyed.

“Yes—she’s desperate to find you. She’s got a ship looking for this place—she knows you’re here.”

“Did she send you?”

Valerie took a moment before responding. “No, Desmond—I’m here to help Ben.” She pointed at Ben and Desmond sneered at him.

“I don’t trust him.”

She shot Ben a quick glance. “He’s alright. I guess I wouldn’t really recommend that you start trusting him, but he’s not as bad as you think he is.”

“Are you sure? Did he do this to you?”

“Do what?”

“Your face.”

“Oh. No.” She looked around the room for a moment and flinched slightly as her eyes met Ben’s. “I have a condition—it has to do with spending time on the Island. There’s a lot of electromagnetic energy here—in Swan station. It’s the best treatment. As long as I’m here, I’ll be fine.”

Desmond nodded quickly, eager to believe her.

Ben found the story less credible. He’d lived here for nearly his entire life and had never seen anything like it. And while he was no doctor, he’d never heard of electromagnetic energy as a cure for any illness.

Desmond shook his head, suddenly remembering something important. “So you’re sure you don’t have a flu?” he asked Valerie, pointing at the ceiling. “Because I have medicines for that—I have the vaccine.”

“There’s no flu, Des—nothing contagious,” she explained gently. “That was a lie they used to keep people here.”

“It’s not real? Is any of it real?”

“The numbers are important. That’s real.”

He nodded again, calmly accepting her explanation.

Ben found it strange that Desmond so easily believed everything Valerie told him. She’d had a similar effect on _him_ , he realized. It didn’t seem malicious—she was telling Desmond the truth, at least about the lack of contagious illness outside the station. It wasn’t even clear that she knew how strange it was that he believed her.

“Desmond,” he called out.

Desmond turned to face him.

“Where’s the restroom?”

“ _That’s_ what’s on your mind?” Valerie asked incredulously, getting up from her seat.

“ _You_ should _sit_ ,” he instructed sternly.

She complied immediately, flopping listlessly back into the chair.

“I wanted to get her a wet towel,” he explained to Desmond, “for her face.”

Desmond pointed at a door. Ben went into the bathroom and carefully soaked a facecloth in the running water. He glanced at himself in the mirror—he looked nearly as worn as she did.

He brought the towel to Valerie and she snatched it from his hands, quickly wiping her mouth and hands with it. She dropped it on the table and leaned back in her chair, clearly exhausted.

He frowned. “Val, you missed most of it,” he told her, picking up the facecloth. He gently dabbed her face with it, erasing the blood from the spots that she’d missed.

She blinked at him, her expression unreadable. “I’m fine,” she insisted.

“No, you’re not,” he informed her. “Why don’t you try to get some sleep?” He turned back to Desmond. “Is that alright?”

“Aye,” he agreed.

Valerie rolled her eyes at both of them, but she didn’t protest when Ben offered his arm to help her to the couch.

Desmond trotted off to grab a pillow and blanket from the spare bunk.

When Desmond returned, Valerie grabbed the pillow from him, pulling it under her head. Desmond handed the blanket to Ben who—over Valerie’s muttered objections, made some effort to shake it out and drape it over her.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

He nodded curtly.

As Valerie slept, Ben and Desmond wandered around the Swan in silence, eyeing each other suspiciously. It was clear to Ben than Desmond had a deep mistrust of him—verging on hostility. For someone who did not know him, it seemed a touch excessive.

Desmond was too rattled by his presence to start a conversation. He paced around, looking at Valerie, who he seemed to care about, and glancing suspiciously at Ben.

“Tell me about Penny,” Ben asked finally.

“Excuse me?”

“I don’t know what Valerie knows about you, Mr. Hume, but Penny seems to be at the heart of it all. Who is she?”

The question seemed to settle him down.

“Penelope Widmore,” he answered dreamily. Ben’s brows shot up.

Desmond described Penny to Ben—how they’d met, how their romance had fallen apart. How desperate he was to see her again—but Ben was barely listening.

“You said her name is Widmore?” he asked suddenly, interrupting Desmond. “Any relation to a Charles Widmore?”

“That’s her father’s name. He’s the reason I was sailing around the world—the reason I ended up here. Do you know him?”

Ben frowned. “We’ve been acquainted.” He walked over to Valerie. She was sleeping contentedly.

He found himself wondering how Valerie knew so much about Charles Widmore’s off-island daughter. It was possible, he surmised, that Jacob kept himself aware of Widmore’s activities. It was also possible that Valerie had been lying.

He frowned. There was no way to prove Jacob had sent her—short of dragging her through the jungle to find him. She very well could be spying for Charles—it could explain her knowledge of the Island, and her knowledge of him—at least some of it. But a well-informed charlatan could fill in the blanks that Widmore would have left—no more impressive than a palm reader.

 _The rest is just guess or a parlor trick_ , she had told him in his office. The possibility sent a chill down his spine. And—he realized—if she was Widmore’s agent, then Widmore would have had something to do with the plane crash.

It didn’t make perfect sense—how could she have known about the tumor? Unless, he surmised, Juliet was somehow involved. Or Widmore had a spy. It seemed unlikely, but not out of the question.

There was no use in confronting her with it now—and of course, if she wasn’t lying, he would be putting himself at even greater risk. He resolved to keep his theory to himself until that calculus changed.

“How long have you been married?” Desmond asked, interrupting Ben’s thoughts. He nodded at the sleeping woman.

“Oh—we’re not married.”

“You’re not?” He seemed genuinely confused.

Valerie had not mentioned it, so Ben didn’t understand why he’d made the assumption. He remembered the ring on his finger and started fiddling with it.

“We were pretending to be—I’ll have to let her explain. It was her idea, after all.”

“Right,” Desmond replied, obviously still confused. “Right.”

Desmond remained slightly agitated and a bit confused for the next couple of days. Once Valerie woke up, she was able to calm him, but he still carried himself like a man disconnected from reality.

Valerie explained to Desmond that she’d heard about him from Penelope Widmore, who she claimed to know. She certainly knew more about Desmond—and Penelope—than a cursory investigation would have revealed. It was not definitive proof of anything, but it was enough to concern him.

She’d done nothing that suggested to Ben that she knew Charles—or even that she knew _about_ him. It would be an unimaginable coincidence for her to simply _know_ his daughter—though there were myriad other explanations for why she would have arrived prepared with these details. Desmond was, perhaps, significant in other ways. He resolved to keep his suspicions to himself.

Ben’s familiarity with Swan station was limited. The station had housed unwitting residents since the DHARMA days. His people had been able to keep an eye on its occupants from the Pearl, but so long as it was inhabited, it had been inaccessible to them. The assumption had always been that the Swan’s purpose was as a psychological experiment—and that freeing its subjects would not be worth the effort.

Valerie seemed to know more about it than he did. He listened quietly as she explained that the station was designed to release a buildup of electromagnetic energy. In the absence of a controlled release, the station would implode. Desmond did not seem surprised—he’d been certain that entering the numbers was a critical task, and his beliefs had been confirmed.

She offered to take the responsibility in shifts, and Desmond happily agreed. Ben quickly volunteered to help as well. The computer that was used to enter the numbers—and, evidently, to discharge electromagnetic energy—could also be used to communicate with the rest of the stations. If Valerie was aware of this, she didn’t mention it—and he didn’t bring it up.

Ben had taken advantage of the time he’d had in the computer room to send instructions to Mikhail—who had passed along his messages to Tom and Juliet. Valerie’s little incident had derailed the plan, but he’d been prepared for that exigency.

She’d tried to apologize to him for what had happened. She seemed ashamed—and frustrated with herself.

He’d refused her apology. It was not necessary. He didn’t trust her, but, as irritating as it was to be trapped in the Swan, it had better amenities than the beach—and he believed that she hadn’t intended any of this. Her fear had been genuine.

In a way, he felt bad for her. It was not like him to empathize so easily, but she seemed to have a way of drawing a reaction from him. He typically buried his emotion carefully—letting it rise to the surface only when doing so would serve a purpose. He was always surprised to really _feel_ anything.

He was particularly surprised to feel jealousy, of all things. She spoke to Desmond with a certain familiarity and kindness—not with the charged, acerbic condescension that she reserved for him. She had been kind to him as well—and he believed that it was at least partially sincere—but the easy friendship she shared with this stranger irritated him all the same. He’d let it get under his skin.

“We’re going to need to get him out of the way,” Ben mentioned casually—largely to gauge her reaction.

Desmond was an inconvenience—but as a connection to Charles’s daughter, he had the potential to be useful at some point. For that reason, it was important that he stayed alive and on the Island. But it was also critical that he stay out of the way while the plan was executed.

“We’re not killing Desmond,” she replied dismissively

“That’s not what I—why would we kill him?”

“What _did_ you mean?”

“Set him loose—when the time comes to leave, it will be easier not to have him around.”

“Where would he go?”

“Does it matter?”

She shrugged. “He could be useful.”

“You know something.” It wasn’t a question.

She shrugged. “We can set him loose, sure.” She paused, taking a moment to look at him. “How have you been feeling?” she asked, deliberately changing the subject.

“Fine,” he answered quickly, avoiding eye contact.

“Ben,” she chided softly.

He looked up to meet her gaze. There was genuine concern in her eyes—gentle and reproachful—as though she pitied him for feeling the need to lie.

“Don’t give me that look,” he instructed.

“What look?”

“Like you actually—” he stopped himself from saying the word on the tip of his tongue. “Like you care,” he said instead. “It’s disconcerting.”

“Jesus, that’s depressing.”

“What?”

“You’re _bothered_ by the idea of someone caring about you? I have my fucking work cut out for me.”

“And what, exactly, is _that_ supposed to mean?”

“Nothing, I just—” 

Before Valerie could answer him, a massive explosion shook the room—so loud that he was suddenly deaf, save for the ringing in his ears.

“What that fuck was that?” Desmond mouthed, stumbling in from the computer room through a cloud of dust.

Ben winced and rubbed his temples, waiting for the ringing to subside.

“Oh, those idiots,” Valerie groaned, her voice a muted shout in his ears.

“What is it?” Ben asked, rushing over to Valerie,

“I forgot about the fucking dynamite.”

“The _what_?” Desmond asked, rushing to shut the blast doors. He pulled a duffel bag out from a closet and started to toss things into it.

“They have dynamite?” Ben added, confused. “You knew about the dynamite?”

“I knew _of_ the dynamite. It’s in the Black Rock. I didn’t think they’d find it—not this fast.”

“I’m going to go out on a limb and guess they don’t trust us anymore—what do _you_ think Val?”

“I thought ‘there was no need to apologize,’ Linus? I didn’t _intend_ for them to find out like that!” She shot him a suspicious look. “But you don’t seem too worried.”

“I tried to tell you, Valerie, I have a plan.”

“What did you do?” she asked accusatorily.

He bristled at her tone. “Nothing to be upset about.”

“What did you _do_?”

“Ethan was to extract Walt immediately if ever we were exposed. Instructions will be communicated to Michael.”

“Jesus Christ, what did I say about kidnappings?’

“I don’t recall you having any authority at all, Valerie.”

“For fuck’s sake he’s a _child_.”

“He’ll be fine,” Ben replied dismissively.

“What if Michael doesn’t help?”

“He will.”

“What if he doesn’t? What if he gets himself killed?”

Ben shrugged. “I won’t hurt the boy.”

“Have you considered that taking him from his father might be hurting him?”

“He’ll be fine,” Ben repeated.

Valerie rolled her eyes.

“You’re the reason we’re in this position,” he reminded her.

“Fuck you.”

He raised his eyebrows. “I don’t recall getting a nosebleed so severe that I nearly died.”

She huffed at him. “I am _sorry_ about that, for the millionth _fucking_ time.”

“You know, I could have let it kill you. Think of all the sympathy a grieving husband would get.”

She frowned, realizing that he was right. “Well why _did_ you help me then?” she asked.

He didn’t know how to respond right away.

“I’m not a monster, Valerie,” he said finally.

“I _know_ ,” she snapped. “Thank you,” she added bitingly, “for not letting me die.”

“I hate to interrupt your delightful bickering,” Desmond yelled from across the room, “but I think we need to get out of here,”

“We’re not bickering,” they said, nearly in unison.

“You _are_ married, aren’t you?”

“We are most certainly not,” Ben replied, rolling his eyes as he took a deliberate step away from Valerie.

Valerie sneered at him. Ben smirked back at her. He glanced up at the ceiling and over at Desmond.

“Are you coming?” Desmond asked, unimpressed.

“No, Mr. Hume,” Ben said smoothly. “It’s been a pleasure, but I think you ought to go without us.” He ushered Desmond toward the exit. “We’ll deal with them,” he added, pointing upward.

Desmond was taken aback. “What do I do on my own?”

“I believe your boat is still around here somewhere,” Ben suggested. “The Elizabeth, yes? I’m sure you’ll find her.”

“Aye,” Desmond agreed, slinging the duffel bag over his shoulder. “You don’t want to come?”

“No,” Ben answered simply.

“You should go,” Valerie added. “We’ll be fine. Be careful.”

Desmond nodded again, accepting Valerie’s judgment without hesitation. He leaned over to Ben. “I’ll see you in another life, brother,” he declared. He gripped Ben’s shoulder for a moment, then took off out the corridor toward the airlock.

“That was cruel, you know,” Valerie noted. “He’ll be sailing in circles for weeks without the right bearing.”

“Yes, he will. But we may need him later.”

Valerie nodded half-heartedly.

“And at least he won’t be trapped in an abandoned science experiment.”

“Fair enough.” She shrugged, though it was obvious that she was concerned for Desmond. “How do you propose we deal with—that?” she asked, pointing at the ceiling.

“Let them come,” Ben answered. He hurried over to the sofa and lifted up a cushion. He reached into the space under it and pulled out a pistol and a grenade. “I’ve locked up the armory. We wait for them, then we run—and make sure they follow us.”

“You have a plan.”

“Yes, Valerie,” he replied. “I _always_ have a plan.”

He handed her the grenade. She took it carefully, a skeptical frown on her face.

“It’s a flashbang. I’ll tell you when to use it.”

He rushed off into the computer room and sent a single word message to Mikhail.

_Now._

He found Valerie still standing in the common room, staring at the grenade.

“Are you sure it’s just a flashbang?”

He stared her down.

“What?” she replied. “I don’t want to blow anyone up.”

“It’s a flashbang, Val.”

A series of clattering thumps echoed from the hall.

“Is anyone in there?” Jack shouted, his voice muffled by the blast doors.

Neither Ben nor Valerie responded.

“If you don’t open up, we’re going to blow the doors.”

Ben walked decisively over to the controls and opened the door, aiming his pistol at the entryway.

“I don’t think that would be wise, Doctor,” he informed Jack as the doors slid apart.

Jack gaped at him, slowly raising his hands. Kate and John were close behind him.

They didn’t appear to have any of the dynamite with them.

“We have a favor to ask of you,” Ben continued coolly, his eyes settling on John. “Through that door, there is a computer. Every one-hundred and eight minutes, someone needs to enter a series of numbers into the computer. It is _critically_ important that the numbers are entered at the correct intervals.”

“There’s an orientation video—it will explain everything,” Valerie added, her hands behind her back.

“What?” Jack asked, obviously baffled by the situation.

“What the _hell_ is going on here?” Kate demanded. “What is this place?”

“As I said, there’s an orientation video,” Valerie explained, tilting her head at the television set.

John was the only one who appeared more curious than afraid. “What happens if we don’t enter the numbers?” he asked.

“Destruction,” Ben answered simply.

He glanced at the three of them and smiled slyly.

“Now, Valerie,” he instructed.

Valerie pulled the pin from the flashbang and threw it across the room at Jack, Kate, and John.

Ben grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her toward the exit. She held her hands over her ears as she ran.

It detonated just as they passed through the doorway into the corridor, a blinding light and thunderous noise temporarily incapacitating both of them.

He dragged Valerie towards the door and ushered her into the airlock, quickly opening the double doors to the outside.

“We have to go, Val,” he instructed in a harsh whisper.

“Yeah, I gathered that. Where are we going?”

“A clearing about two hours into the jungle. Michael will convince a party to follow us.”

“And then?”

“Then, we give Michael back his son,” Ben answered. “You were right about him. His _talents_ make him more trouble than he is worth.”

“Let me guess,” Valerie replied dryly, “Michael will make sure that Jack, Kate, and Sawyer all come looking for us?”

Ben frowned. “Why would you say that?”

“So that you can use Kate and James to manipulate Jack—for fuck’s sake Ben, I’m pragmatist, not an idiot.”

He sighed—there was nothing he found quite as vexing as Valerie’s ability to understand his thinking. She was nearly impossible to surprise.

“For the record, I’m opposed to this,” she added.

“For the record, I do not care what you think,” he retorted, grabbing her wrist again, “but we need to go.”

***

Valerie was profoundly irritated.

Ben’s plan had gone off without a hitch, and he was exceptionally smug about it. Michael had arrived in the clearing with Jack, Sawyer, Kate, Hurley, and Ethan. They’d been ambushed—forced to surrender—and they had been shocked to learn that Ethan was not who he’d claimed to be.

Tom and Mikhail were in charge of the group that tied them up and put burlap sack hoods over their heads. Hurley was sent back to the camp with instructions—to warn the survivors not to venture too far from the beach or the caves, and to continue pushing the button in the hatch. Terrified, he obliged.

Slowly, the group marched the hooded captives to the water and corralled them onto the barge that delivered them to the docks.

Valerie held her tongue as Ben closed the deal with Michael. That was the silver lining in this—he hadn’t hurt the boy too much. Michael was reunited with Walt, given a fishing boat and a bearing of 325 degrees, and wished a safe trip home. She noticed Ben smile slightly as the boy leapt into his father’s arms.

As Michael disappeared over the horizon, the three prisoners were brought up to the dock. “Go ahead and take the bags off,” Ben instructed.

Tom and Danny pulled the hoods from their heads. Jack, Kate, and Sawyer looked at their captors—their eyes darting around in confusion and alarm. Even though they had begun to realize they weren’t alone, none of them had expected that they were sharing the Island with an entire community of people.

Standing in front of the group of onlookers, Ben was back in his element. Juliet seemed skeptical; she watched on with a frown as Ben rattled off a short diatribe on the nature of the situation they’d found themselves in. Alex was equally unimpressed—rolling her eyes each time Ben made a grandiose statement.

Valerie took a step back, trying to avoid eye contact with the prisoners. She was ashamed of Ben—she knew that she should have expected this from him, but part of her had wanted to believe that the tiny spark of kindness she’d seen in him was indicative of a deeper shift.

She glanced at Alex, who noticed her looking. She flashed Valerie a confused look. Valerie shrugged slightly—trying to indicate with her eyes that none of this was her idea. She didn’t bother to hide the irritation on her face. She was sure that she wasn’t alone in finding Ben’s leadership style needlessly harsh.

She’d have to have a word with him once they were back at the house. She hadn’t figured out what she would say. Her plan hadn’t worked. He’d have no reason to trust her—not without better reasons to. She still had cards up her sleeve, but it might just complicate things for her to play them while the two of them weren’t on the best of terms.

From the corner of her eye, she saw him nod decisively at someone behind her. There was a look in his eyes that she couldn’t quite place—not quite guilt, but something like it.

In the next moment, she felt a blunt pain reverberate through her skull, and everything went black.


	9. Displacement

**Chapter 9: Displacement**

Valerie woke up in a cage. She was on her back—staring up at the bars of the polar bear enclosure on Hydra island.

“Oh, for the love of fuck, Linus, you predictable asshole,” she muttered to herself.

She should have known that he’d pull something like this. She was an idiot for actually believing that he was starting to trust her. 

But as irritated as she was with Ben, she wasn’t overly concerned. He was making a point—he wasn’t going to kill her. He might not believe her story, but she was a puzzle to him. He wouldn’t get rid of her until he understood why she was here.

“Audrey?”

It was Kate’s voice. Valerie sat up.

“It’s Valerie, actually, Kate.” She winced, expecting to be berated. “Sorry for lying about that—really.”

“Is Wednesday awake?” a voice asked.

Kate nodded. “Yeah, she’s alright.”

Valerie blinked a few times and rubbed the back of her head. She assessed her situation. She was sharing a cage with Kate. Sawyer was across from them, alone in the other enclosure.

“What the hell is going on, Wednesday? Who is he? Why did he knock you out?”

She looked at them both, wondering if there was any way to explain the situation to them.

“Ben—he’s—he’s a fucking moron,” she told them, rubbing the back of her head.

“Dean?”

“His name is Ben. He’s the man in charge. This place—this isn’t just some tiny island in the middle of nowhere.”

“We figured that out, yeah,” Kate interjected harshly.

“It’s really hard to get here, and it’s even harder to leave,” she continued, ignoring Kate’s anger. “You’re not here accidentally—the plane was supposed to crash here. That’s why I was on it.”

“What do you mean ‘supposed to’?”

She ignored the question. “The people who live here are scared of outsiders—scared of the outside world finding their island. And they have no way of sending you all home. It’s just not possible. Maybe a few people but—"

“Why do you keep saying they?” Sawyer asked. “We know you’re one of them.”

“I’m not. I’m not from here. I was sent here to help _him_. He really does have a tumor. We wanted to find a way to break the truth to you gently—to convince Jack to operate.”

“He’s not your husband?” Sawyer exclaimed.

“Who sent you?” Kate said at the same time.

Valerie shook her head. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. It doesn’t matter anyway.” She pulled herself up and started pacing. “I can’t believe he dumped me here,” she muttered to herself. “That man is _impatient_ and _stubborn_ and so fucking _stupid_ , and nothing at all like—”

She stopped in her tracks.

“Fuck,” she said suddenly. “I need to go.”

She looked up and found the camera. She flipped her middle finger at it. “Eat shit, Linus,” she shouted, and slipped through the bars.

She turned to Kate.

“Before you try to follow me, you should know we’re not on _the_ Island—this is a small island just off the coast.” She glanced at Sawyer. “I’m sure you won’t believe me, but there’s nowhere to escape to from here, unless you’re comfortable with a long swim, or you’ve got a boat.”

“Where are you going?”

“He’s around here somewhere. I’m going to talk him out of this. He needs to let you go.”

She felt a little guilty about lying to them as she disappeared into the jungle. She had no intention of finding Ben.

She touched her nose and looked at her finger. _Blood_. It wasn’t coming steadily yet, but she felt off. She knew it was only a matter of time before it got worse again.

He couldn’t do anything to help her now—even if he wanted to. She had to get back to the main island.

She tore off through the jungle. Hydra was only about a mile or so away from the main island, but the swim was a bit longer if you wanted to arrive at a beach instead of rough rocky coast.

As soon as she reached the water, she kicked off her shoes and waded in. The water was cold and choppy, but she had no choice.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

She dove in and started swimming.

She knew right away that it was a bad idea. She was a very good swimmer, but her queasiness made her weak and unable to focus. All she could do was push forward and tilt her head up to breathe every few strokes.

She saw his face as she swam—her mind flickered between the scowl on his face just before she was knocked out and the first time that he had smiled at her.

It helped, in a way. She was distracted enough by her anger and sadness that the hour of struggling through the water passed relatively quickly.

She tried to stand when she reached the beach on the other side, but she was so exhausted that her knees buckled, and she fell with a splash back into the shallows.

She had to make it to the Barracks.

She crawled out of the water, trying to ignore the coppery taste on her tongue.

She vomited into the sand and wiped her face. The back of her hand was covered in blood.

She had to make it to the Barracks.

The trouble was that she wasn’t close—not at all. She was a long way from the Barracks—and even if she could get there, she would need someone to let her past the fence.

It had been bad plan—she’d reacted out of a desperation to stay alive without thinking about how unlikely that really was.

She tried to focus her mind on a good memory. It bought her a bit of energy, and she trudged up the beach and into the jungle.

A few minutes into her walk, she collapsed again. She leaned against a tree and looked up at the canopy.

There was some peace in the lazy movement of the green leaves against the blue sky.

There wasn’t anything left to do—nothing more she could try. She’d failed. She felt the warm blood from her nose running over her lips. The tears welled up in her eyes. She’d always known that this trip might kill her, but she’d never really believed she would die alone.

She closed her eyes and exhaled.

She was startled awake by the feeling of a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“Valerie?”

She opened her eyes.

“Alex?”

“What happened? Did he do this to you?”

“No—I mean, sort of.”

Alex helped her to her feet.

“I need to get back to the Barracks,” she explained, trying her best to speak clearly.

“Why?”

Valerie was overcome by a dizzying wave of a nausea. She vomited into the tree she was leaning on. “Cure,” she mumbled, blinking heavily.

“Okay—okay. We can get you back,” Alex conceded. She turned over her shoulder. “Karl!” she shouted into the trees.

Karl wandered out and looked Valerie up and down.

“Isn’t she his fake wife?” he asked Alex.

“Does it look like he cares?” Alex snapped back.

“He doesn’t understand,” Valerie slurred.

Alex didn’t look convinced. “Can you walk?”

Valerie nodded. She took a few faltering steps.

“Go get help,” Alex directed. Karl frowned at her.

“From who?”

“I don’t know—I don’t think he would want her to _die_. We should help her.”

Valerie swallowed and tried to regain her composure. “House arrest,” she muttered.

“What?”

“I need to go home.”

“Where’s your home?”

Valerie frowned and took another labored breath. “Your home,” she clarified. “There—not Hydra.”

“That might work—tell them she’s very sick,” Alex told Karl. He jogged off into the trees.

“Tell Richard,” Valerie shouted after him, then fell back to the ground. She slumped against the tree. “I’m so sorry, Alex,” she mumbled.

“ _He’s_ the one who should apologize.”

Valerie shook her head. “He loves you so much. So much.”

She knew that Alex wouldn’t understand. Ben had a hard time translating his love for Alex into affection, and Alex was too young to see that her father’s detached iciness was not his strength, but his weakness.

She shuddered. Somehow, the worst of it had passed, but she was still too tired to keep herself awake. She let her eyes fall shut, and she drifted off.

She woke up to the arrival of voices—Alex explaining the situation—arguing with a woman Valerie didn’t recognize. She woke up again in the back of a van, and again at Alex jostling her shoulder.

“Can you get up?”

They were at the barracks. Mustering her last bit of energy, Valerie pulled herself up and threw herself out of the car, stumbling as fast as she could to Ben’s house. Alex trotted after her.

She pushed through the door and into Ben’s bedroom. She closed and locked the door behind her before Alex could follow.

She nearly knocked the nightstand over trying to get to the envelope she had stashed.

She sat on the floor and leaned against his bed and opened it with trembling hands. She exhaled slowly as she examined the contents. She held them against her chest and fought back tears.

“Are you okay?” Alex asked, knocking at the door.

“I am now,” Valerie replied, her voice clear and steady. She smiled to herself as she tucked the envelope back in its hiding place.

She hopped up and unlocked the door.

Alex was staring at her, confused.

“It passed,” she explained. “I’m fine. I’ll be fine.”

***

Juliet gave Ben the report that Valerie had been apprehended and was being kept prisoner in his home. She’d been near death when they had found her according to Richard, but—apparently—she now seemed fine.

He was surprised to feel relief—not that she was secured, but that she was alright. He frowned to himself.

“Have we figured out what happened when she escaped?” he asked Juliet.

“Kate and James were quick to say that she ran off looking you.”

“Did she think I was back at the Barracks?”

“They said that she knew you were on this island, and that she was going to try to talk some sense into you. She was, apparently, quite irritated.”

“I gathered that from the rude gestures at the camera.”

Juliet smiled to herself. “She didn’t come looking for you here, though. From what we can tell, she ran straight to the water.”

“Was she sick when she left?”

“Not enough for Kate or James to notice anything off,” Juliet replied. “Alex found her—it sounds like she and Karl were—”

“I don’t need to know the details,” Ben interrupted. “Val was sick when they found her?”

“Alex said that she could barely speak—she was covered in blood and vomited on herself a number of times on the way to the Barracks.”

Ben winced. “But she’s fine?”

Juliet raised an eyebrow at his concern. “Yes. She spent a few minutes in your house and emerged tired, but perfectly healthy. All she would say is that the illness had passed.”

Ben thought for a moment, remembering her earlier episode at the Swan. “Does that sound like any illness you know of?”

Juliet shook her head. “It could be a concussion—I did hit her pretty hard.”

He thought for a moment. “No.” he replied, shaking his head. “She was afflicted by the same thing at the camp. She was fine once we went into the Swan. It was almost as if the place itself cured her. Is there something that my house and the Swan have in common, maybe? She said something about electromagnetic energy—does that make sense to you?”

Juliet made a face and shook her head.

“What? What do you think? Is this all some sort of con?”

Juliet shrugged. “I have no idea, Ben. I barely spoke to the woman.”

“But?”

She rolled her eyes. “ _But_ , if I’m being honest—” she hesitated.

“Speak your mind, please,” he instructed.

“If I’m being honest, I don’t trust her. She knows too much, and she has the confidence of someone with the power to do as she pleases. And she isn’t afraid of you—not at all. Even now.”

He nodded in agreement. “What does she think she’s doing at my house?” he mused.

“Why don’t you ask her,” Juliet suggested.

He shook his head—this was a distraction. “She’s my responsibility, but she wants me to react—to engage in her little game.” He smirked slightly, satisfied by his own ability to outthink Valerie. “If I don’t let her try to manipulate me, she can’t win.”

Juliet sniffed. “Maybe Jacob sent her here to give you a taste of your own medicine,” she suggested pointedly.

He glared at her. He’d have to deal with Juliet’s insolence at some point, but there was no time for that now.

“Perhaps he did,” Ben replied coolly. “But I won’t concern myself with that until this tumor is gone. We need to speak with the doctor.”


	10. No Place Like Home

**Chapter 10: No Place Like Home**

Valerie slept in Ben’s bed. She’d decided that he owed her as much after caging her.

She had a long shower, dried her hair, and settled into the reading nook in Ben’s office. She was happy to stay prisoner here—particularly compared to her other options.

Alex wandered in later in the morning. “Making yourself at home?” she asked brightly.

Valerie smiled. She knew Alex was only interested in befriending her because Ben was antagonizing them both.

“Trying to stay out of trouble,” she explained, holding up the book. She looked closely at Alex and stood up, leaning against one of the bookshelves. “I was in a boating accident, a long time ago—I nearly drowned. It fucked up my lungs for a while.” She gestured at the window. “I was cooped up for weeks, desperate to be outside.”

Alex smiled politely, not sure where Valerie’s story was going.

“The point is that I am perfectly capable of being stuck in this house for as long as necessary.”

“How long is that going to be?”

“Depends on your dad, I think.”

Alex made a face at her. “Can you tell me what’s going on—honestly?”

Valerie thought about it for a moment. The girl had been kept in the dark about so many things—she was too smart to ignore it. But her father was too stubborn and frightened to let her know the truth.

“Alex, it’s not my place to tell you everything—”

Alex started to interrupt, but Valerie continued. “—but I’ll explain what I can—sit down.”

Alex sat, eyes wide, and Valerie took a seat next to her.

“Your dad has a tumor on his spine,” Valerie began. “He’s going to be fine,” she added quickly, before Alex could panic. “That’s what all this is about—why he’s got those people from the plane on Hydra.”

“What?”

“One of them is a spinal surgeon. The other two—it’s complicated. Needlessly convoluted, really. He’s using them. I tried to stop him from doing things this way, but he decided that he doesn’t trust me anymore.” She rolled her eyes.

Alex looked uncomfortable. Valerie realized that she’d dumped a lot of information on the girl very quickly. Alex knew the kind of man her father was, but it didn’t make it any easier to be confronted with that reality.

“My dad was not a good man either—not quite like yours, but he was involved in a lot of shady business. He had an obsession with guns and martial arts—that sort of thing. He cheated a lot of people—lied all the time. He wasn’t a bad dad, but it was always hard to reconcile the things he did with the person he was to me.”

Alex nodded.

“This is part of who your father is—but it’s just part of him. He really does have a good heart—deep down.”

“Why do you believe that?” Alex asked with a hint of scorn. “I don’t even think he believes it.”

Valerie smiled wryly. “I’m a pretty good judge of people. He’s a fundamentally insecure person, Alex. He’s constantly scared—scared that everything he cares about can be taken away from him—his position, his power, _you_.”

“Me?”

“Why do you think he gets all worked up about Karl?”

“I don’t know.”

“It’s not because he hates Karl, or he doesn’t want you to be happy,” Valerie explained. “He’s scared for you.”

“Why? I’m not stupid.”

Valerie squinted awkwardly at her, trying to choose the best words. “You know what happens to women who get pregnant, here, I assume.”

She blushed. “Oh my god. I’m not going to get pregnant!”

“I know! That’s not the point though, Alex—that’s just what he’s scared of. And it’s not a crazy thing to worry about.”

“Why doesn’t he just _say that_ instead of meddling?”

Valerie snickered. “Can you _actually_ imagine him trying to have that conversation?”

Alex looked straight ahead, wide-eyed, then started giggling. “No,” she admitted

“Look—when I was your age—” Valerie began, but thought better of using her delinquent sixteen-year-old self as an example. “When your dad was your age, he didn’t—he doesn’t know what it’s like to be sixteen and in love.”

Alex buried her face in her hands. “Oh my god.”

Valerie ignored her embarrassment. “His mom died giving birth to him. His own dad was abusive. He doesn’t really know how to be a good parent. His power is the only tool he has, and he’s using it clumsily. But he has a good heart, I promise. Don’t give up on him.”

“What was he like with my mom?” Alex asked suddenly. “Do you know? Did you know her?”

Valerie shook her head. “I have no idea,” she lied. “Her name was Danielle. That’s all I really know.”

“Can I tell you something?” Alex said suddenly, inching closer to Valerie. “I’ve always wondered what she was like. No one will talk to me about her—and there are no pictures.”

Valerie nodded. She wished that she could tell Alex the truth.

“I think she was probably a lot like you,” Alex said quickly, immediately embarrassed to have said it.

Valerie was taken aback. “Like me?”

“It’s just—how could anyone _love_ him? You know? She must have been, like, kind of—I don’t know—the same as him.”

Valerie was startled by her insight but didn’t say anything.

“When I was little, I thought maybe she balanced him—someone sensitive and patient—someone who would have been a really good mother.”

“Maybe she was?”

“I don’t know—that thought used to make me happy, like she was this perfect angel watching over me. But when I got older, I wanted her to be strong. I wanted her to be the type of woman who could stand up to him when he was being stupid.”

Valerie laughed. “If you’re any indication, Alex, she definitely was.”

Alex smiled. “And we have almost the same hair,” she added, touching her own dark waves. “It’s what made me think of it.”

Valerie smiled. Her own hair wasn’t as curly, nor as dark. Any similarity was just a coincidence, but she was moved by the way Alex was looking for things that connected them.

She liked Alex quite a bit—she suspected that Ben did not know half of the things she got up to when she disappeared with Karl. She was curious, brave and resourceful—much like her mother, though it wasn’t Valerie’s place to tell her about Danielle.

But Danielle wasn’t the reason she’d wanted to have a conversation with Alex.

“Alex, I know you have had a hard time with him lately, but I think he needs your help right now.”

“Why?”

“I’m concerned that people might use the surgery as an opportunity. Your dad doesn’t really react well when people try to take advantage of him. I think you could be a voice of reason. Make sure things don’t get out of hand. I’d do it but—I don’t think it would be helpful at this point.”

“What am I supposed to do?”

“Take Karl to Hydra. Just—talk to your dad. Don’t let him do anything unreasonable. Talk to Juliet. Juliet—she’s not his biggest fan, but—”

“Because he’s got a crush on her,” Alex interjected.

Valerie thought about defending Ben but decided against it. “That was part of it. He has also kept her here longer than he said he would.”

“I don’t like her—I don’t know why he doesn’t see how phony she is.”

“She’s just trying to make everyone happy so that she can leave,” Valerie explained, “but she’s got a mean streak. Be careful with her. She won’t want you to get hurt, but I don’t really know where she draws the line.”

“Okay,” she still seemed skeptical.

“Be patient with him.”

“Why do you care?”

“I’m here to help him.”

Alex wasn’t convinced. “But you _actually_ care about him,” she insisted. “You were trying to get me to forgive him when you were barely even conscious. He really matters to you.”

Valerie sighed. She wasn’t wrong. “He reminds me a lot of someone I lost.”

“Someone you loved?”

“You’re too smart for your own good,” she replied dryly. She bit her cheek to hold back a more direct response. It still hurt too much to think about. “Just be patient. You mean the world to him. I promise.”

Alex bit her lip. “Okay,” she said finally. “I’ll try.”

***

Ben was examining his own x-rays. He wasn’t really sure what he was looking at—but spreading them all out on the table gave him some sense of control over the situation. He was quite surprised when his daughter burst into the room. She launched into a tirade before he could greet her.

“You have a _tumor_?” she demanded. “That’s what all this is about?”

He sighed. “Yes, we’re working on it. One of the passengers—Jack—is a spinal surgeon. He’s going to do the surgery.”

“Does he _know_ that he’s going to do it?” she asked sarcastically.

He glared at her. “We have an incentive system in place.”

“You mean his two friends that you’re keeping in the polar bear cages?”

“You’re dismissed, Alexandra. Thanks for visiting.”

“Tell me about Danielle,” she spat at him.

Ben bristled at the name. “Excuse me?” he asked cautiously.

“Danielle. My _mother_. Valerie told me.”

 _Valerie told her._ Ben’s fury spiked, but he tried to settle himself for Alex’s sake. He took a deep breath and sat down, grinding his teeth in anger.

“Alex. I need you to understand that I love you as if you were my own.”

“ _What_?” she shrieked.

Ben’s brows shot up. “What did Valerie tell you?”

“That my mother’s name was Danielle! What the _fuck_ dad!?”

“She told you your mother’s name? That’s all?”

“Yes! Dad what the _fuck_ are you talking about?”

“Language, Alexandra.”

“Now is not the fucking time for you to be telling me what to do! Are you even my real dad?”

Tears were forming in her eyes. He pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Sit down.”

“Fuck you.”

“Sit. Down.”

She pouted at him but took a seat in the chair across the table.

“I suppose you are old enough to know the truth,” he continued. “It’s been hard to admit that you’re not a child anymore, but I know that you are not—I do.”

She crossed her arms petulantly.

“It’s a difficult truth, Alex. I have kept this from you to protect you.”

She rolled her eyes at him.

“Alex. I mean every word. You may disagree with what I should have told you or when, but I did what I believed was best.”

“You always do,” she retorted.

He decided it would be easier to ignore her attitude than address it. She had probably earned a bit of petulance, given everything.

He had been so haunted by the horrible things he’d said in his dream—the cruel lies that he uttered before she died. The idea that she would be taken from him was awful—but that his last words to her would be so dismissive and cold? He shuddered. He owed her the truth.

“The mad woman—the French woman. Her name is Danielle Rousseau. She’s your mother.”

Alex’s arms dropped to the table and she leaned closer. “My mother is alive?”

“Yes,” Ben said with a nod. “She was part of a scientific expedition that arrived on the Island sixteen years ago. The Island drove them all mad. Your father was one of the men she traveled here with. As far as we can tell, she killed him—along with the rest of her crew—in the midst of a violent delusion.”

It took her a few seconds to process what he had just told her. “What?” she asked, her voice small. The tears started running down her cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” he told her quietly and let her cry for a moment.

“Another man was in charge back then,” he explained. “A man worse than me, if you can believe it.”

She smiled a little at his self-deprecation.

“That man ordered me to kill the madwoman—and her newborn baby along with her.”

“Me?”

Ben nodded slowly.

He raised an eyebrow and stared at the corner of the table as the memory came back to him. He remembered that night so vividly. He looked back at Alex.

“I couldn’t do that, Alex. Even I have my limits.”

She reached out and grabbed his hand.

“Perhaps I was wrong, but I didn’t believe she could keep you alive in the state she was in. Maybe taking you away from her was the thing that pushed her over the edge—maybe I should have given her more credit. But that was the choice I was faced with—kill you, take you with me, or leave you with a woman who had just killed five people including the father of her child.”

“You took me from her?”

He nodded again.

“I just wanted to give you a safe home. And once I’d taken you, how could I tell you the truth? What was I supposed to say? When would _you_ have told that little girl that her mother went crazy and killed her father?”

He was feeling uncharacteristically emotional. His visions of her death had put certain things into sharp focus. His relationship with Alex was worth repairing—it was, ultimately, the only thing that ought to matter.

“I’m so sorry, Alex,” he told her sincerely. “I am.”

He stood up slowly and she jumped out of her chair to hug him. He was startled, but grateful for the sudden change. He held her close until she had cried away the tears.

“I’m proud of you,” he told her, patting her back. “You’re a remarkable young woman—in spite of who raised you.”

She sat back down at the table and laughed sheepishly, wiping her nose.

It was cathartic to tell the truth—to let her cry. He felt as though weight had been lifted from his chest. He imagined that Alex would be confused and sad for a while—but she seemed as relieved as he was.

“Dad,” she asked suddenly, realizing something, “did you even have a wife who died?”

“No,” he answered simply.

“Was there someone?” she pressed.

He shook his head. He supposed that she had filled in the blanks of what his life looked before her and was now struggling to understand who he’d really been. “There was a girl—when I was a bit younger than you—Annie,” he confessed. “I foolishly thought that I’d marry her.”

“Valerie said you didn’t have a girlfriend when you were my age.”

Valerie had been in a sharing mood, it seemed. He had no idea how she could know the things she knew, but he made a mental note to excoriate her the next time they spoke.

“I didn’t,” he explained to Alex. “I was quite fond of Annie—and she of me, but not quite in the way I hoped.”

He still thought of Annie from time to time. As a child, her friendship had sustained him through his lonely life with a difficult father. As a young man he’d grown to idolize her—she was pretty, smart, and kind. And she had been a fierce friend—defending him from the cruelty of the other children.

“Annie—Anne, as she insisted when she was older—was my first friend in this place,” he told Alex, who was listening with rapt attention. “We were apart for a time, but she came back to the Island—and I thought when she did…” he trailed off. “She studied biology—wanted to become a doctor. She married a nice young man—a chemist.”

He hadn’t begrudged Annie the happiness that she’d found without him, but he had resented the young man she’d found it with. His disdain stemmed in part from the fact that the man was outgoing, well-liked, and handsome—everything Ben wasn’t—and in part because he was responsible for her death.

He sighed heavily. “Annie—”

“—got pregnant and died?” Alex interjected.

He looked up sharply. “Did Valerie tell you that too?”

“No—she didn’t tell me any of this. I’m just starting to realize why you’re so obsessive about _that_. But I kind of get it now, I guess.”

Annie thought they’d found a cure for the illness—so sure of her science that she’d tested it on herself—with catastrophic results. Her widower had soon followed her to the grave—a victim of the purge. Ben had taken some perverse pleasure in causing his death—but that part of the story was not something his daughter needed to hear.

Alex looked at him intently. He knew that she saw him in a completely different light now—so many of her illusions had been shattered in such a short time. He watched silently as she digested all of the new information. She had wanted answers—now that she had them, he wondered if she would have preferred not to know.

“Why don’t you trust her?” Alex asked quietly, breaking the silence.

“Who?”

“Val.”

It seemed his daughter had developed an unhealthy interest in their houseguest. He’d need to find a way to remedy that eventually.

“I suspect Valerie is not who she says she is,” he answered with deliberate vagueness.

Alex thought about that for a minute. “But she really cares about you, dad.”

“I doubt that.”

“She does—she was literally defending you with her dying breath.”

“She’s an exceptionally good liar.”

“She said you remind her a lot of someone she lost.”

That piqued his interest. Alex had managed to extract a new piece of information from Valerie, however unintentionally.

“Is that right?”

“I don’t know—that’s what she said. There’s something that feels true about it though. I guess she always just seems a little bit sad.”

It was an astute observation. He’d noticed something similar about Valerie when she arrived. There was a grief that she carried around—a recent grief. She buried it effectively, but he’d lived through enough tragedy to recognize that kind of pain when he saw it.

“We can talk more about Val later,” he told his daughter. “You should stay here. I think you should talk to Jack.”

“Me?”

“You,” he confirmed, and ushered her towards the door.

He looked over his shoulder at the surveillance camera and stared into it for a moment. Juliet was watching, he was certain of that. He hoped she’d been paying attention to his little reconciliation. The more she empathized with him—and Alex—the less likely she would be to try something stupid.

He shut the door behind him as he left. It was a deeply personal conversation, but he didn’t see a problem with using it to manipulate Juliet. He’d been honest with his daughter—and there was nothing wrong with killing two birds with one stone.


	11. A Pound of Flesh

**Chapter 11: A Pound of Flesh**

Ben consulted with Juliet before bringing Alex in to talk to Jack. He decided that she should go in alone—he knew Jack would be inclined to believe his daughter was being coached—or coerced—if he was in the room.

He watched with Juliet from another room as Alex brought Jack a folder full of x-rays and a hamburger.

“You were on the dock,” Jack said to her, opening the folder.

Alex nodded. “He’s my dad,” she told Jack, pointing at the scans.

“Right.” Jack took a bite of the burger and chewed it as Alex watched.

“Are you going to help him?” she asked. It wasn’t a request, and she didn’t seem scared or desperate—just curious for Jack’s answer.

“Do you want me to help him?” Jack asked, picking up on Alex’s tone.

“Yes,” she replied sincerely, “I do.” She sat down across from Jack and buried her head in her hands. “I don’t like the way he does things,” she confessed, pulling her hair back from her face. “I don’t think pitting you people against each other really makes sense. But he’s my dad. I believe he has a good heart—I know he does. I know it’s hard to see that—I get why you wouldn’t want to do this—but I don’t want him to die.”

“Will he let my friends go?”

Alex glanced at the camera.

“Is he listening to this conversation?”

She nodded.

“Did he ask you to talk to me?”

Alex nodded again.

Ben turned to Juliet. “I’m going in there,” he declared.

She reached out to stop him. “Give her a minute.”

“I wanted to talk to you too,” Alex replied.

Ben glanced at Juliet with surprise.

“A little honesty goes a long way,” Juliet murmured.

“You _were_ listening.”

“Of course.”

“Look—he’s scared,” Alex told Jack. “He’s a powerful man, but he’s always scared that he’s going to lose it all. And now, even if he doesn’t die, he might lose the ability to walk—what do you think will happen to him if he is confined to a wheelchair for the rest of his life?”

“He could pull a Roosevelt,” Jack muttered to himself.

“What?”

“Never mind—listen, I don’t really want to let him die. I’d just like to know that my friends are safe. I want him to let them go.”

Before Juliet could stop him, Ben hurried out the door and into the room with Alex.

“There he is,” Jack announced.

“I won’t let them go until the surgery is over,” Ben informed Jack. “They’re my insurance policy.”

“And I won’t do it until they’re free—so it seems we’re at an impasse. I’ve got all the time in the world—you’ve got weeks. Days, maybe. I like my hand.”

Ben frowned. “Your friends don’t seem too put out by their current situation. I’m not sure they’d mind the wait. They’ve grown rather _close_ in captivity.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You know Jack, if I were a betting man, I would have picked her and _you_.”

Jack understood what was being implied.

“You’re lying.”

“I could show you the surveillance video, Jack—I don’t suppose you’d enjoy it very much. Unless you’re into that sort of thing?”

“Dad!” Alex exclaimed. He’d nearly forgotten she was in the room.

“If I were a betting man, Ben, I’d bet that woman wasn’t really your wife.” Jack replied, his tone changing to match Ben’s antagonism. “I would’ve picked her and literally _anyone_ else.”

Ben scowled at Jack—it wasn’t the sort of comment that should have affected him, but he felt a wave of anger creeping up his neck. He clenched his fist.

“Dad—”

He calmed himself down. “Well, Jack,” he said smoothly, “if you have any sense of what _that woman_ really wants, I’d like to hear it.”

Jack seemed confused by the comment. “She’s not one of you people?”

Ben shook his head. “She was on the plane with you. She claimed to be here to help me with _this_.” He gestured at the x-rays on the table. “I believed her at first, but…” he trailed off.

“But he ignored her advice and locked her up in our house because he couldn’t see a way to convince you that didn’t involve kidnapping and coercion,” Alex chimed in with a sarcastic smile.

“Alex, you can go.”

“I’ll do it,” Jack said suddenly.

“I’m sorry?”

“I’ll do it because your daughter doesn’t want her dad to die, and if we play a game of chicken over this, that’s exactly what will happen.”

Ben locked eyes with him. There was a transparent sincerity in his eyes. Jack had a compulsion to help—just as Valerie had insisted. He didn’t need the specter of imprisoned friends hanging over him. He would do it because it was right.

Ben turned to the security camera. “Let them go,” he told Juliet.

“Really?” Jack asked, incredulous.

“Really.”

“Thank you,” Alex added, and slipped out of the room. Ben wasn’t certain it was Jack she was thanking.

***

Jack prepared Juliet and Ethan for the surgery. Ben watched on, half attentive. The doctors discussed their approach clinically. In other situations, that might seem reassuringly professional—but, as they discussed dissecting him as though he weren’t in the room, he felt rather like a piece of meat waiting to be properly butchered.

He took a short walk around the facility and bumped into Richard, who had stopped by to update him on the survivors. Kate and Sawyer had been returned—blindfolded—to a clearing about an hour’s walk from the Swan.

Richard also brought difficult news. Tragedy had struck soon after his extraction—Goodwin’s group of survivors had met the group from the caves, and things had gone south immediately.

Everyone had been on edge after they’d realized they’d been duped by Audrey and Dean. They were scared without Jack’s leadership and confused about Michael’s apparent betrayal. It seemed that they’d taken Goodwin’s group of survivors to be hostile—someone had fired a gun, which led to a brief firefight that had taken Goodwin’s life, along with two of the women.

“We should tell Juliet,” Richard noted, expecting some resistance from Ben.

He thought about it. They were scheduling his procedure for tomorrow. It would probably be best if she wasn’t distracted. But Juliet’s words echoed in his mind. _A little honesty goes a long way._

“I suppose we should,” he agreed reluctantly. “Though I suspect she’d rather not hear it from me.”

“I can tell her. But you ought to be there.”

Ben nodded.

“What has my house guest been up to?” He asked, as they walked down the hall.

Richard shook his head. “She’s a strange woman, Ben.”

“What does that mean?”

“She’s made herself quite at home. She’s made no attempt at all to leave your house. She’s moping around—playing piano, leaning out your window to smoke cigarettes, reading—she’ll probably be most of the way through your wine by now. She’s just—”

“—waiting,” Ben finished.

“It’s almost as though she’s genuinely worried about you,” Richard suggested.

“Or worried that she’s been caught, and is waiting for her punishment,” Ben countered. “You said she’s been smoking?”

“Quite prolifically, though she’s making some effort not to do it inside the house.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about. Has anyone brought her cigarettes?”

“I don’t believe so?” Richard replied.

“I keep a few cartons in my basement closet. They can be useful, in certain situations.”

“You think she’s found the tunnels?”

“Or she already knew about them,” Ben noted.

“Well, if that’s the case, she hasn’t used them to escape.”

“A problem for another day, I suppose,” Ben muttered as they arrived at the operating room.

Juliet was in the middle of sanitizing the table. “Juliet,” Ben called to her.

“Now’s not a great time,” she answered.

“Would you please come with us for a moment,” he asked, immediately regretting his stern tone.

Jack looked up from the scans he was studying. Juliet glanced meaningfully at him.

“Juliet,” Richard said gently.

“Jack can hear whatever you have to say to me,” she replied.

Richard stepped toward her. Ben lingered in the doorway, hesitant to make himself part of the conversation.

“I’m sorry, Juliet. It’s Goodwin,” Richard said simply.

“No.”

“There was a misunderstanding—the survivors started firing on each other. He didn’t make it.”

“No,” she said again, choking back a sob. Jack rushed over to comfort her. “This is _your_ fault!” she wailed at Ben and promptly burst into tears.

He frowned at her. “I’m so sorry Juliet,” he said, with as much sincerity as he could muster. There was a time where Goodwin’s demise might have been a small victory for him—but now, looking at Juliet’s pain, all he felt was pity.

“We can push back the surgery,” he found himself saying. “You should take some time. We can do that, right Jack?”

Jack silently shook his head. “Maybe a day or two. I could do it with only Ethan,” Jack offered. “It would be better with Juliet’s help.” He turned to Juliet. “I can’t ask you to do that, though.”

She nodded slowly.

“There was a shootout?” Jack asked, turning to Richard.

“That’s what we gathered,” Richard explained. “This was about a week ago. There were two other deaths—a woman from Goodwin’s group named Ana-Lucia, and a young woman from your group named Shannon. They were all just in the wrong place at the wrong time.” 

Jack shook his head in mournful disbelief. “Kate and Sawyer are alright?”

“They’re back at the camp,” Richard confirmed.

He sighed.

“Push it back another couple of days, Jack,” Ben insisted, surprised at himself. Jack nodded.

“Ben,” Juliet called out as they turned to leave. “I appreciate you not keeping this from me.”

He knew her words were intended more as an admonishment for his past omissions than actual gratitude, but she seemed to understand the significance of the choice he had made.

He nodded curtly at her and walked swiftly out of the room. At the end of the day, delaying the surgery was in his own interests. A distraught Juliet would be an ineffective surgeon, and Jack was sure to respect him for his small act of selflessness. And he could only shield Juliet from the news for so long—learning that he’d kept it from her would only serve to make her more vindictive in the future.

“Doing the right thing agrees with you,” Richard told Ben, noticing his self-satisfied grin.

“Even I can be kind when it suits my purposes,” Ben replied quickly.

“Of course,” Richard said, with a knowing smile. “But that doesn’t make it any less right.”

“I suppose,” Ben admitted grudgingly. “Am I losing my edge?”

“Just getting older and wiser.”

“Well, Richard,” Ben joked, “you’re the expert on that.”


	12. The Devil You Know

**Chapter 12: The Devil You Know**

Valerie received word from Richard that the surgery had gone well. It had been a relatively uneventful procedure. Jack had both Ethan and Juliet to assist, and Alex had hung around to keep him company as he came out of anesthesia.

“Some people will be by later to set up the medical equipment in his bedroom,” Richard informed her.

“I guess I should clean a bit,” she said, looking at the kitchen. The dishes had started to pile up and she clearly hadn’t made any effort to clean the stovetop. “He always does them,” she explained, gesturing expansively at the sink.

“Have you been drinking?”

“A little bit,” she admitted, pinching her thumb and index finger.

“It’s _eleven_ ,” Richard informed her sternly.

“Well you know what they say, my _old_ friend—it’s five o’clock somewhere—not that time is real here,” she told him, blinking. “You of _all_ people…” she didn’t finish the sentence. “I’ll have a coffee, I guess.”

“No more cigarettes. Air the place out. Alex will be coming home too. And you can start packing.”

“Packing? Why?”

“Ben’s surgery went well.”

“ _And_?” she replied combatively.

Richard stared back at her, as if the answer should be obvious. “You were here to make sure his surgery was successful,” he explained slowly. “It’s been done. He’s going to make a full recovery. We don’t need to keep you here. You can go.”

She frowned at him.

“I have some other business here,” she replied cryptically. “I’ve got a lot of cleaning to do,” she mentioned, and started wandering back to the kitchen.

Richard reached out and grabbed her upper arm.

“Have you considered just telling us the truth about what you’re up to?” he asked directly.

She cackled at him and shook her arm free from his grip. “I’ll think about it,” she replied, and slipped into the kitchen.

When Ben arrived that evening, the house was spotless, and Valerie had more or less sobered up. She’d showered, dried her hair, and made an effort to conceal the fact that she’d been a disheveled mess for the last couple of weeks.

“Hi,” she said quietly, as Alex wheeled him through the door.

“Oh, you’re still here,” he noted dismissively.

“Yeah. I’m technically still your prisoner, I think.”

“You can go,” he said, without making eye contact.

“I’ve got a few things to wrap up. I’d rather stay, if that’s okay.”

He looked up at her, and she met his gaze. He was trying to read her, she realized. She raised an eyebrow at him, daring him to refuse her.

“Fine.”

Alex glanced back at Juliet. Valerie caught the look that they exchanged, but she didn’t entirely understand it.

She got out of the way while they set Ben up in his room. She was momentarily nervous as they started moving the furniture around, but she’d moved the envelope out from under the nightstand a couple of weeks ago. She’d put it back into her backpack and hidden it down in Ben’s secret closet.

She’d found all sorts of old treasures that day—from his heavily used false passports to boxes that clearly hadn’t been touched in years. She’d picked through his collection of curios, helped herself to the cartons of cigarettes, a little revolver, and a few wads of euros—just in case.

She’d found a dusty old box crammed into the closet’s darkest corner—and she had realized upon opening it that Ben himself had likely not looked at it in decades. It was a box of his mother’s things—a book, some letters to Roger, and her wedding ring set. Valerie had glanced down at her own rings, noting the oddity of the situation. Although their charade had ended weeks ago, she still hadn’t taken them off. 

She was fiddling with the rings when Juliet found her in Ben’s office.

“I was just heading out,” she said, sitting next to Valerie on the sofa. “I wanted to talk to you for a minute.”

“Okay,” Valerie replied skeptically, putting her book down.

“I haven’t figured out what your game is—”

Valerie started to interrupt, but Juliet held up her hand.

“—but you’ve got him wrapped around your finger. Use that power carefully.” There was something patronizing about her tone, but Valerie realized that it wasn’t intended as a slight.

She laughed to herself, shaking her head. “Juliet,” she said, “I haven’t got him at all.”

Juliet laughed. “Don’t be so sure.”

Valerie smiled tightly in response. Juliet had been the target of Ben’s affections for a while. Valerie suspected this had made her prone to seeing an ulterior motive in his every word.

“What makes _you_ so sure?” Valerie probed.

Juliet grinned to herself before answering. “Part of him suspects that you’re here to ruin him. But here you are, reading in _his_ office, sleeping in _his_ house. He doesn’t trust you, but he can’t bring himself to control you.”

Valerie shrugged slowly. “It’s just another one of his little games, Juliet.”

Juliet started to argue, but Alex appeared in the doorway.

“Is everything okay?”

“Juliet was just telling me what pills we’re giving your dad,” Valerie lied quickly.

“Just some mild painkillers and antibiotics,” Juliet added, standing up. “He’s doing well.”

“What happened to Jack?” Valerie asked, turning to Alex.

“He’s around—I think they set him up in someone’s spare room? I’m not sure what the plan is.”

Valerie glanced back at Juliet. “If you talk to him, thank him for doing this,” she requested. “And Ethan—and thank _you_ , of course.”

Juliet’s face shifted. She seemed taken aback by Valerie’s sincerity.

“Sure,” she said, lost in thought as she saw herself out.

***

Ben watched on with disdain as his daughter and their houseguest bonded over his post-operative care. Alex seemed to enjoy Valerie’s colorful language and impish attitude—and Valerie seemed to relish the role she played with his daughter—the fun aunt, he mused.

To some extent, she’d just stretched the role she’d been playing before. They were pretending at being a little family—albeit one under the strain of deeply entrenched mistrust.

Though she’d given him no sense of what she was sticking around for, she was, admittedly, helpful to have in the house. She was unselfconscious in tending to him—happily checking his stitches and helping with his exercises. He supposed that it was not enough that he’d had the surgery. His recovery would need to be completely successful for her mission to have been accomplished. But there was more to it, he was sure of that.

He asked her to play chess with him. He thought that it might be a way to see inside her mind—the way she strategized. She’d laughed gleefully at the suggestion, then defeated him mercilessly. The experience was unnerving—not because she’d beaten him, but because she'd anticipated his own gameplay so flawlessly. Nothing he did surprised her—even when he was surprising himself. He felt as though she was inside his head. 

In his weakened state, he was hesitant to confront her—but he was also careful not to let her get too close. He held meetings with Tom, Richard, and the others away from his house, so that she couldn’t spy on them. Holding the meetings elsewhere served an additional purpose—he was conscious of not seeming impotent. Remaining housebound would only deepen that perception; leaving home would counter it.

It was at one of those meetings that he learned about the Kahana.

Charles Widmore was preparing a freighter with a particularly skilled crew. He was planning _something_. Ben knew it would be personal, and he also knew Charles well enough to know that he’d risk burning the whole place to the ground if it that was what it took to win.

Ben recommended they take advantage of Michael’s apparent post-island distress—get him some sort of role on Charles’s freighter. He had nothing left to lose, it seemed—if the proposal was framed as an opportunity to save the friends he left behind, it had a good chance of being persuasive.

Jack was another problem. There had been some loose promises of getting him off the Island—and it was too late to pretend that freedom wasn’t an option. They’d freed Michael and Walt, after all.

“Even if we offer him a way out,” Juliet noted, “Jack won’t take it. He couldn’t leave his people behind. He’ll take anything we offer him and use it as a bargaining chip to help them.”

Ben agreed with her assessment—Jack couldn’t stomach letting him die; he wouldn’t abandon his friends. But he struggled to find an adequate solution.

In those private meetings, Ben also found himself fielding a number of concerned questions about his houseguest. It was best to keep an eye on her, he explained. He needed to find out what she was up to. _Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer_ , the adage goes. His justification was met with some skepticism, but his assurances that the situation was controlled were accepted at face value.

Privately, he feared that the freighter was her real mission—that she was some sort of plant, making plays in advance to give Charles an advantage. Her little game on the beach had even afforded her the opportunity to gather information from the survivors. The sum of her actions didn’t really support the theory—but it didn’t really support her own story either, and laying low was precisely what a plant would do at this stage.

Valerie, for her part, seemed unconcerned that he was keeping her in the dark. He found her apathy suspicious, but he decided that his best play was to act as though the trust had been restored in the hopes that it might get her comfortable enough to let something slip.

If she _was_ a spy for Charles, Ben reasoned, it would be worth extracting whatever information she had before killing her.

He was dreading that possibility. The idea of killing Valerie bothered him—more than it should. It wasn’t that she was a woman, though that might have played some role in his discomfort. It was something else—some sense that it would be a truly abhorrent act, though he couldn’t put his finger on _why_. 

On the bright side, his healing proceeded much faster than Jack had predicted. He was up and walking again within the week. Jack himself was stunned at Ben’s progress—though, he noted, nothing that happened on the Island really conformed to one’s expectations.

Ben had hoped that the tumor was somehow responsible for his nightmare, but even with the tumor gone, the dream continued to haunt him. When Mikhail learned that Charles had hired mercenaries to crew the freighter, Ben tried to tell himself that it was a coincidence—that it had only been a dream—but he couldn’t shake the sense that the freighter was a direct threat to his daughter’s life.

In the absence of enough information about what was coming to develop a real plan, he devoted his time to restoring his relationship with Alex. After their heart-to-heart, he’d softened his stance on Karl, and Alex had—much to her own delight—convinced him to invite the boy over for dinner.

He sat glumly in the kitchen while Alex and Valerie worked on a roast chicken—the same recipe he’d made for Juliet. Valerie insisted that she didn’t need him to write anything down, and she had help from Alex—who made for a surprisingly enthusiastic sous-chef.

Valerie caught him scowling at her and flashed him a grin. He wanted to believe it was sincere. In spite of everything, there was something pleasant about the happy mundanity of the scene—Alex trusted him again, and she seemed to like having Valerie around.

He worried what a betrayal by Valerie would do to the fragile bond he’d restored.

Karl seemed profoundly nervous when he arrived at the house. Alex ushered him in, and Ben made some show of being friendly and inviting.

The dinner went well—well enough that he let himself forget his fears for a while and was able to enjoy the happiness that his daughter exuded.

He watched from across the room as Alex and Karl did the dishes together—the boy shooting uneasy glances at him every few minutes.

“It’s sweet,” Valerie murmured, stepping up behind him.

“It’s foolish,” he replied reflexively.

She glared at him.

“I suppose it’s sweet in spite of its foolishness,” he conceded.

“All young love is,” she mused. “Have you figured out what you’re doing with Jack?” she asked, swiftly changing the topic.

“Not yet. Why do you ask?”

“You can’t stall forever—eventually they’ll try to rescue him.”

“Rescue him?” Ben retorted. “From what? Running water and a roof over his head?”

“They don’t know that—all they know is the cage you put them in.”

“Do you have a solution to offer?”

“Give him a bigger fish,” she suggested.

“A bigger fish?”

“Tell him that your plans to free him have been interrupted—that something worse is about to happen. Tell him you need his help—that his friends will need his help. The man can’t resist a lost cause.”

Ben felt a chill creeping up the back of his neck. She’d tried to be vague—but she was clearly talking about the Kahana. He briefly contemplated giving her the opportunity to walk back her suggestion, but he decided against it.

“What do you have in mind?” he asked tentatively, taking a couple of steps into the kitchen. He had a gun stashed inside a rarely used saucepan in one of the cupboards. He opened the cupboard and pretended to rummage around.

He wrapped his hand around the gun and waited for her to answer. She said nothing.

He drew it on her.

“You wouldn’t be thinking of the freighter that’s headed our way, are you Val? Because I just couldn’t imagine how you’d know about that.”

He realized that she was already holding a gun on him—he recognized the revolver from the stash in his closet.

“Oh my god, dad, what are you doing!?” Alex shouted, suddenly noticing the standoff.

“You should ask her,” he replied calmly, tilting his head in Valerie’s direction.

Valerie remained stony faced and silent.

Alex’s eyes darted back and forth between them. “Val—what’s going on?”

“Your dad has forgotten that I don’t need him to tell me what happens around here,” she replied, holding eye contact with Ben. “I already _know_ everything.”

“And how _exactly_ is it that you know about the Kahana? I suppose you’ll tell me that Jacob knows what Charles Widmore will be plotting before he even forms the idea?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Then you’re admitting that you’re a mole?”

“A mole?” Valerie laughed. “For _who_? Widmore?”

“You know his daughter,” Ben countered.

“Penny? No I don’t.”

“Can you guys just put the _fucking_ guns down!?” Alex demanded.

“That’s not what you told Desmond,” Ben said, ignoring his daughter.

Valerie lowered her gun. She turned to Alex. “I only pulled it out because I knew he was going for his,” she explained. “It’s not even loaded.”

She tossed the gun to Alex, who caught it midair. Alex checked the chamber and nodded, confirming it was empty.

Valerie turned back to Ben, her hands raised. “I lied to Desmond, Linus. I know _of_ Penny Widmore. I’m not working for Charles.”

“Then what are you still doing here?”

She frowned at him. She didn’t answer.

He turned to Karl. “Tie her up,” he ordered. “Zipties are in the top drawer.”

“Dad, wait,” Alex pleaded.

“Help him, please, Alex,” he said. 

Valerie rolled her eyes and held out her wrists.

Alex grabbed the zipties from Karl and secured her, glaring angrily at Ben.

“Would you tape her mouth shut too, Karl?” he instructed, still holding the gun on Valerie. “She’s got a bit of a silver tongue, and we can’t have that.”

Karl obliged, glancing nervously at Alex whose expression subtly warned him not to try anything.

“Karl—I need you to go get Richard and Tom. Danny too—tell them we’re going back to Hydra.”

Karl ran out the door, obviously relieved to be out of the situation.

Valerie leaned against the wall and rolled her eyes again.

“Dad, what is going on?” Alex asked.

“Mm?” Valerie added, through the duct tape.

“I told you, Alex—she’s not who she says she is. She knows too many things she shouldn’t.”

“So you’re going to do what? Stick her in a polar bear cage? She’s not out to get you!”

“Mm!” Valerie agreed, nodding.

“Something I should have done weeks ago,” he replied. “We’re going to get some answers.”

Karl returned quickly—wild-eyed and out of breath, flanked by Ben’s requested reinforcements. “Are you okay,” he asked Alex.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she replied, shaking her head in bewilderment.

“It’s time,” Ben told Richard. Richard nodded, and guided Valerie by the shoulder out of the house.

They arrived at Hydra station in the middle of the night. She seemed uncowed by the situation—annoyed and a bit bored, but not afraid. She occasionally tried to talk with them through the tape, but her inarticulate mumbling was, fortunately, impossible to understand.

Ben led the group down a narrow hallway. She seemed to know where they were heading.

The door was at the end of the hall. Ben paused before opening it, pulling the tape off of her mouth.

“Room 23,” she said, her voice sad. “Really?”

“You’ve been lying, Valerie. You’ve been lying this whole time.”

She shrugged. “I’m here to help you. I’m not lying about that.”

He ignored her, watching coldly as Tom and Danny strapped her feet into the chair’s restraints.

She seemed to have accepted her fate with a stoic resignation. He doubted that she would be intimidated into a confession—he just hoped the room would disorient her enough to pry some answers out of her.

She locked eyes with him. There was something wholly unfamiliar in her expression—pity, he realized. She pitied him.

Danny flicked a switch, and the rapid flickering of the room’s slideshow burst to life. Ben felt a twinge of guilt as he turned to leave.

“You’ll regret this, eventually,” she told him matter-of-factly. It wasn’t a threat. There was no vengeance in her voice—only disappointment. “All I’ve ever done is help you.”

He turned around angrily and walked back into the room. Richard tried to pull him away. “She’s dangerous, Benjamin,” he whispered, “you know better.” Ben brushed him aside.

“Leave us.”

Richard shook his head and raised his hands as if to absolve himself of responsibility. Tom and Danny followed him out of the room.

“And cut the recording,” Ben added, gesturing at the cameras. Alpert nodded curtly as he closed the door behind him.

Valerie stared him down. “You’re right that I’ve been lying,” she told him matter-of-factly. “I was never here to convince Jack. You would have done that without me.”

“I suppose you’re going to tell me that you’re here to protect me _from_ Charles,” he muttered.

She raised an eyebrow. “In a manner of speaking.”

“You’ll forgive me for not believing you,” he replied icily. He pulled the gun on her, expecting her to shirk back in fear.

She didn’t react. “You’re not going to kill me, Linus.” She wriggled her wrists out of the restraints, freeing her hands. Alex hadn’t been particularly thorough with the zip ties, it seemed.

She bent over and nimbly unclasped the restraints at her feet, all the while staring unperturbed into the barrel of his gun. She stood up and took a few steps away from him

He followed, backing her into a wall.

Her eyes were daring him to pull the trigger, but she was right. He couldn’t do it—and it infuriated him.

Ben’s rage was always tightly controlled. He’d tamed it—trained himself to use it as a tool. He’d learned to let it fester under the surface—to let it become increasingly caustic until a moment he deemed worthy of releasing it. This was one of those moments.

He smacked her across the face with the gun—the full force of his anger and hatred behind the blow. She fell to the ground and slowly pulled herself back up, wiping the fresh blood from her cheek.

She spat on the ground and stretched her neck—but still, she didn’t seem afraid.

“We can do this the stupid way, I guess,” she quipped, already exasperated.

He had no time to respond. She took a sharp swing at him, her fist meeting his jaw with a powerful efficiency. She elbowed him in the gut as he buckled down. The gun clattered away.

He lurched back at her, fueled by raw fury.

He threw punches and grabbed at her—if he could only get his hands around her neck, he thought—have her by the throat—it would be over.

But Valerie was calm—expertly parrying and dodging each blow, anticipating his fists as well as she’d anticipated his chess plays—as if she’d faced him a hundred times before.

He realized that she was not trying to hurt him—since disarming him, her every move was defensive. She didn’t even want to inflict pain to prove her point.

He had been raging at her with a fiery loathing, but Valerie was—at most—mildly annoyed.

He reeled himself in, pausing to catch his breath and reassess. She looked at him carefully and leaned against the wall, her chest heaving.

“Is it out of your system now?” she asked through ragged breathing, her tone vaguely patronizing.

He trudged towards her, winded by the exertion. He was still angry—angry that she’d lied to him, angry that he’d believed her—angry that he had trusted her enough to let it get this far.

He stopped—a breath away from her face.

She looked up at him—her dark eyes filled with a bold confidence. She glanced briefly at his mouth.

He was struck suddenly by a strange shift in himself—his need for violence slipped away and was replaced with another, deeper need—intense in all the same ways, but distinctly new.

He looked at her lips—curled into a smug smirk. The chaotic light of the room’s hypnotic slideshow flickered in his peripheral vision.

His pulse was racing.

He placed his palms against the wall, one on either side of her head.

Her face grew serious. She slowly tilted her head up to meet his gaze, gently biting her bottom lip. He felt himself drawn towards her, as if by some magnetic force.

He became uncomfortably conscious of his own breathing.

She blinked deliberately, her eyes slyly wandering back down to his mouth.

He shuddered and took a step back, exhaling sharply as he regained his composure.

The smug smirk returned to her face. She knew she’d won.

He stood in silence for a moment, calculating a new way forward.

“Tell me, Valerie,” he said finally, “if Jacob really sent you, and you’re not working for Widmore, then why can’t you just tell me the truth?”

“It’s not that I don’t want to—I do.” Her voice was steady again, as if nothing had just happened. “I don’t have a choice.”

“What do you mean?”

“I can’t tell you the truth, Ben. You wouldn’t understand. You don’t want me to tell you.”

“Is that really your decision to make?”

“No, it’s not—which is the point,” she answered stubbornly. “There are things that you shouldn’t know.”

“Why can’t you just tell me why Jacob really sent you? What does he want?”

Her jaw tensed, and she looked up at him. He was startled to see the confidence in her eyes replaced by a churning anguish.

“I don’t know what he wants—I have no idea. I never met Jacob.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” He felt the frustration rising again. “Who _are_ you?”

She sighed, hesitating.

“That’s the lie—the real lie. Jacob didn’t send me, Ben. You did.”


	13. The Man Pulling the Strings

**Chapter 13: The Man Pulling the Strings**

Walt was up early. The violent thunderstorm had left him with nothing to do all evening, so he had gone to sleep. Now that the rain had cleared, he was eager to get back outside.

He wasn’t sure what drew him to the beach. He rarely walked in that direction, and he rarely walked that far from the Barracks without a good reason. But when he saw the capsized sailboat stuck in the shallows, he knew he’d only done it because it was what the Island had wanted.

He was tempted to explore the boat on his own, but it wasn’t safe to wade out alone, and no one knew where he was. He decided to go to tell Hurley.

He found Hurley having breakfast in Ben’s kitchen.

Hurley was surprised to hear about the boat, but only mildly.

“Have you been expecting someone, Hugo?” Ben asked suspiciously.

“Not exactly,” Hurley replied, “but I had a feeling that storm was up to something, you know?”

Ben shrugged. He’d had his suspicions as well.

Ben drove them in a van back to the spot on the beach. The sailboat had been pushed further up the sand. He glanced at the name— _The White Rabbit._ It was a nice-looking boat—definitely pricey—small, but well equipped.

Ben waded into the water and banged on the hull.

“Hello?” he called, to no response.

Walt helped him open the hatch, and he crawled into the cabin.

Everything was sideways, and there was about a foot of cold water inside the boat. There was some obvious damage towards the bow, which was clearly the source of the water. But that’s not what Ben noticed first.

What caught his attention were the plastic wrapped bricks of cocaine and stacks of cash that appeared to fill the cabin. He stumbled through, plucking wads of $100 bills from the water.

Then he saw the woman, slumped over in the corner, bleeding from the side of her head.

“Hey, Hugo, there’s someone in here,” he called over his shoulder. He wasn’t sure if he had been heard.

He made his way over to her with some urgency. Her face was covered by long, dark hair—and for a moment he was reminded of his daughter, hoping against reason that the Island had brought Alex back to him. But when he pushed the hair out of her face, he could see that this woman looked nothing like her.

He slapped her cheeks a couple of times to try to elicit a response, to no avail. She was cold—very cold—and her lips were nearly blue. He wasn’t even entirely sure that she was alive. But he heaved her over his shoulder and trudged out of the boat.

Walt helped him to pull her out of the hatch, but Ben felt compelled to carry her to shore. He held her limp body in his arms, her head hanging loosely on one side, and her legs dangling on the other.

He carried her all the way into the van. Ben sat with her in the backseat, cradling her head in his lap. Hugo drove them back to the barracks, and not a word was said between the three of them.

They set her up in the spare room in Ben’s house, dusting off the medical equipment—relics from a lifetime ago, after Jack had operated on him. They dressed the wound on her head—it was ugly, but shallow, and likely not serious.

She didn’t wake up for more than a day, but Ben kept watch until she started to stir.

It wasn’t that he cared about her wellbeing—he had changed, but not that much. His primary interest was asking about the money, and the drugs, and how she came to wreck her boat on the Island—if it was her boat at all.

She began to wake up late evening, a day after they had pulled her from the wreckage.

“Where the fuck am I?” she mumbled groggily.

“You’re in my house,” he replied crisply.

“What happened?”

“You capsized and washed up on shore.”

“Where?”

“It’s a small island in the South Pacific. Doesn’t really have a name.”

She frowned.

“I’ll be back in a moment,” he told her. “I need to go get the boss.”

He returned with Hugo a few minutes later.

“What’s your name?” Hugo asked gently.

“Valerie,” she replied slowly. She didn’t offer a last name.

“What happened to you?” Ben interjected.

She looked back and forth between them before answering.

“My boyfriend—he stole from some bad people.” Her voice was weak. “We had to get away. He took that boat. There was a storm—I think he might have gone overboard. I went into the cabin and I just tried wait it out, but the waves were too much. I got knocked around. That’s the last I remember.”

Hugo started to speak but Ben interrupted him.

“You’re lying.”

“Ben!” Hugo chided. “She’s been through a lot, man—we can sort out the truth later.”

Ben didn’t waver.

“She’s been through an ordeal, yes. But there was no one else in that boat.” It wasn’t a question.

She frowned at him. “You seem sure about that,” she replied, an eyebrow raised. The weakness in her voice had disappeared. He imagined that she’d recognized him having seen through her, and she had calculated that continuing the charade was pointless.

Hugo seemed surprised.

Ben put both hands on his hips and stared her down.

“Who are you people?” she asked.

“You’re not in any trouble,” Hugo reassured her.

“That remains to be seen,” Ben corrected. He turned to Hugo. “I think you need to let me have a few words with _Valerie_.”

“That _is_ my name,” she noted casually. She then started coughing—a deep, chesty cough that was unmistakably real. “I’m fine,” she told them, after the fit had stopped. She locked eyes with Ben and continued. “He can talk to me all he wants. I’ll tell him what he needs to know.”

Hugo gave Ben a look that suggested much of the conversation had gone over his head. But he shrugged, and left the room, closing the door behind him.

“How did you know I was lying?” She seemed more curious than anything else.

“Why didn’t you keep the show going?” he countered.

“I could tell you were certain. I didn’t want to waste your time with bullshit. What are you going to do to me?”

“Well, _Valerie_ , that depends.”

“On?”

“What you tell me.”

“Tell me how you knew I was lying.”

“You didn’t ask after anyone else when you woke up. That was all I needed to know.”

“Wow, three seconds into meeting me and you already had me pegged as a liar,” she retorted.

“It takes one to know one,” he replied, raising an eyebrow.

She nodded and started coughing again. “Yeah, I figured it was something like that,” she told him, after the coughing had cleared.

She’d seen through him too.

“That really is my name, by the way. Valerie Bonaventure.”

“How did you end up sailing a boat full of drugs and cash across the Pacific all by yourself, Ms. Bonaventure?”

“It’s a bit of a long story,” she said adjusting her position in the cot. “I’m a federal prosecutor for the Southern District of California—in LA.” She said it quickly—not in a phony way, but the way that one does after years of formal introductions. “Or—I was, I guess,” she corrected, continuing her explanation. “I got in a bit of trouble. Had to leave in a hurry. I knew where this boat was—none of the stuff in it was mine, it just gave me some options.”

“How much trouble?” he asked.

“Well—I can’t go back,” she said simply, “and people are dead.”

It was the brief version, and obviously riddled with understatements, but he believed her.

“Will your trouble try to follow you here?”

“I doubt it. I left before things really escalated. I don’t think anyone will have even realized I was gone until it was too late to find me.”

He frowned at her, considering the situation she was in. “You can stay for a while. Until we fix your boat.”

She forced a smile. “Thanks.”

“I suppose we could probably use a good lawyer around here.” he added, half-joking.

She laughed, but it immediately devolved into coughing.

“Get some rest,” he told her curtly, and left the room without waiting for a response.

She was a strange woman, he noted, walking towards his office. She hadn’t lost her composure around him. He’d always had a way of putting people off balance—it hadn’t worked on her. He’d never really met someone so self-assured in his presence.

***

Ben stared at Valerie in stunned silence.

“What do you mean, I sent you?”

“You know what the Orchid is capable of,” she began. “You know that time is malleable in this place.”

He nodded, frowning. She let her words sink in. Wordlessly, she picked up his gun and handed it back to him. He stuffed it back in his waistband.

“In some other version of things,” she continued carefully, “Jacob will die. You will be the right-hand man to the person who replaces him.” She dropped her voice to a low whisper. “Most of the people here will be gone—dead mostly.”

He eyed her, wondering whether she was spinning another lie.

“Some years from now—from _then_ , I guess—a sailboat wreck will wash up on the beach. There’ll be a lot of cash inside, and some other questionable cargo—and an unconscious woman. You’ll carry her out and take her back to the Barracks to recover. That’s how we will meet—how we _met_. Later—much later—you'll ask that woman to help you correct the greatest regret of your life.”

“Alex,” he breathed. He’d known the dream was significant—he’d started to believe it was some kind of premonition. But it was a memory, he realized—from a future that Valerie was trying to prevent.

She looked up at his face. His natural inclination to disbelieve her battled a growing sense that her story was true.

“You can put the zip ties back on if that helps.”

He shook his head, unable to find words.

They sat in silence for a while, both wordlessly leaning against the wall. Ben tried to find some reason not to believe her—but as wild as it was, her story explained everything that had been bothering him.

“I suppose we should go home,” he suggested, standing up. He offered her his hand—a truce. She took it and pulled herself to her feet.

They walked quietly out of the room, leaving the hectic slideshow playing.

He escorted Valerie back out of Hydra over Richard’s objections—refusing to explain how or why the state of things had changed so dramatically.

“I got the answers I needed,” he told Richard. “She’s not a threat.”

“You’re sure?” Richard asked, eyeing the wound on Valerie’s cheek.

“I am.”

Valerie shot Richard a look over her shoulder. Richard frowned back at her but nodded conciliatorily at Ben.

Ben didn’t really understand the gravity of what she had explained right away, and she seemed to know that it was best to leave him be while he came to terms with the truth.

Still, he had her continue to stay at his home—it seemed wrong to send her away. They tiptoed around each other through the awkwardness, rarely speaking save for the occasional pleasantries.

Alex, wisely, hadn’t asked too many questions. Valerie had assured her that everything was fine—that there was nothing to be upset about. The altercation had been a misunderstanding—Ben may have overreacted a little, but he wasn’t entirely out of line. All had been forgiven.

In spite of those assurances to Alex, however, Valerie avoided him. He wasn’t sure if she was giving him the space to process what she had told him, or if she was giving herself time to forgive him for how he’d treated her. He knew she’d been a bit hurt by the way he’d reacted, but she had seemed to understand it. She _knew_ him, after all.

After a few days of tortured silence, Valerie stepped out for a walk in the middle of the night. She made no effort to hide that she was leaving—so he didn’t find her departure suspicious—but he felt compelled to follow her all the same.

He caught up with her on the beach. She was staring sadly out at the ocean, her knees against her chest.

She didn’t seem surprised to see him.

She shuffled over, inviting him to sit.

“Do you believe me?” she asked, her eyes fixed on the waves.

“I suppose I do,” he conceded. “It’s a lot for a mind to adjust to.”

“I know. That’s why I couldn’t tell you the truth, Ben. You didn’t want me to—it’s too much to swallow.”

“I suppose it is,” he agreed, still wrestling with the idea. He was silent for a while, lost in thought. She didn’t interrupt him.

“In your time,” he asked finally, “what sort of man am I?”

She smiled to herself. “Well, you’d never pistol whip me,” she offered, “and trust me, I tried your patience.”

“I believe that,” he replied quickly. The corner of his mouth twitched into a grin. “Apologies, by the way.” He glanced meaningfully at the swollen wound on her cheek.

“I forgive you,” she hummed.

He nodded in acknowledgment.

“You were a good man, Ben, really,” she added, her voice filled with a wistful joy. “You were kind—and I think you were happy.”

He didn’t believe her, but he understood why she would refrain from answering with perfect honesty.

“Who were you, really, Valerie? Before the Island?”

“I actually _was_ a lawyer. I was an Assistant U.S. Attorney in Los Angeles. I'd gotten myself into a bit of trouble. The Island needs people with some sense of justice and nothing to lose. It’s a tricky thing to find—a decent person with nothing left to lose. Not many people reach that point without making some awful choices.”

He looked over at her, expecting to see shades of regret on her face. Instead, she seemed amused by the memory of the person she had been.

“You and I really aren’t all that different, Benjamin. I’ve always found that in the shadow of a just cause, all sorts of ruthlessness can be justified.”

“Saving Alex is a just cause.”

“It is,” she agreed. “You and I both learned to stop finding excuses to control other people. I think it took _you_ a while.” She grinned to herself. “I arrived here—the first time—already resigned to the idea of atoning for who I had been. It’s one of the reasons I wanted to do this for you.”

“How are you going to stop it from happening?”

“Honestly, I don’t know yet. I think she trusts me. I’ll stay with her as much as I can—we’ll have to play it by ear. If I can’t stop it, you’ll have to. You’ve seen what happens. You’ll have a choice. You just have to make the right one.”

He nodded slowly, his mind wandering back to the horror of that recurrent nightmare.

A question popped into his mind. “How are you going to get back?”

“I’m not going back,” she replied quickly. “It was always a one-way trip.”

“You don’t think I’d want to know how it went?”

She glanced at him and blinked a few times before answering. “You died.”

He raised his eyebrows and leaned over his knees as she continued.

“You had a lot of regrets. Saving Alex—that was the last thing you asked me to do. Or try to do.”

“Don’t you have anything to go back to?”

The look on her face told him that it was a stupid thing to ask. She shook her head.

A suspicion he’d been harboring began to crystallize in his mind

“Valerie—who was I, to you?”

She flashed him a sad little half smile and looked out at the ocean. She didn’t answer.

“I don’t have anything to go back to,” she said instead.

He watched her graze her fingers through the sand. He reached over and rested his hand on her shoulder. It was an instinct—one he wasn’t familiar with. She leaned into his touch.

He stood and offered her his hand. She took it and pulled herself up. She didn’t let go. Instead, she squeezed as if her life depended on it.

He squeezed back reflexively.

She smiled sadly and let her hand fall to her side.

They walked in silence back to the Barracks. He was overcome with a wistful, nostalgic sadness. A memory brushed at the edge of his consciousness. It felt familiar—but incredibly distant, like the memory of a childhood dream.

He held the door for her. In the threshold she stopped and turned to look at him. She tried to mask her sadness with a smile, but he wasn’t fooled.

“I’m sorry,” he told her quietly.

She frowned at him, biting her lower lip.

“I should have figured it out sooner. I’m not sure why I couldn’t see it.”

She nodded and turned to go to the makeshift bed in his office.

“And Valerie,” he interrupted, with a sudden urgency, “I’m sorry that I’m not him.”

Tears filled her eyes. He knew it must hurt to hear him say that—to be standing in front of her, looking just like the man she must have loved, telling her that he wasn’t the person she knew.

But he wasn’t so sure. Part of him wondered how great the difference could have been. What made him a different man? Had his experiences shaped him so dramatically? And—perhaps most importantly—how did she see him?

He put his hands in his pockets and took a few steps into the hallway. At the halfway point, he looked over his shoulder at her. She stood by the door, arms crossed, jaw clenched in a stoic grimace, as the tears rolled down her cheeks.

That night, Ben woke with a start. He’d had a vivid dream—not the dream about Alex. A very different dream.

He realized upon waking that he’d had the dream several times before, but that, until tonight, he had failed to remember it clearly.

It was clear this time—so crisp and solid that he was certain it was not a dream at all, but was a memory, just like his vision of Alex’s death.

It had been a cool night—Thanksgiving, he thought, though he wasn’t sure why. She was standing in his foyer. It was very late—or very early. Dawn hadn’t broken, but they had been awake all night, talking on the beach. He had walked her home—to his home—and he had invited her in.

She stood there, leaning against the wall across from him, staring at him with a confident intensity. He remembered the hesitation he felt—the fear of rejection battling his desire to touch her skin. He remembered the way he had stared at her in silence until he managed to convince himself that she had accepted his invitation—at that quiet hour—for the reasons he hadn’t dared hope. He remembered the courage it took to close the space between them, and the moment that his lips first found hers. And he remembered the breathless, frantic fumbling to be with her, and the way that it had so profoundly changed him.

He got up and took a cold shower.


	14. Each to Each

**Chapter 14: Each to Each**

Valerie fought her way through the pneumonia and slowly recovered from the injuries she suffered in the wreck. She took weeks to recover, often finding herself tired and breathless after taking short walks around the neighborhood.

This frustrated her, which she expressed in strings of expletives vivid and vulgar enough that Ben himself would blush.

She was fast friends with Walt and Hugo, with whom she shared a love of science fiction and Tolkien. She was also an avid reader of classic literature—quickly becoming a near permanent denizen of the library in his office. She particularly liked Fitzgerald—an expert in the tragedy of hubris, she explained—but her favorite book was Crime and Punishment. She told him that she liked the way that it captured the self-indulgence of wallowing in guilt. He couldn’t tell if her comment was intended to needle him.

Ben was not accustomed to entertaining guests, so he was relieved that she was content to spend her days quietly reading. He was less happy when she’d started insisting on playing chess with him every day—she had been a mediocre adversary at first, but she’d learned quickly, and he was concerned that they would soon be evenly matched.

She’d been well enough to move to her own house after a while. They’d managed to recover most of her things from the boat, and she’d been pleased to resume some semblance of a normal life.

In truth, he hadn’t initially liked Valerie very much. He didn’t understand her immediately, which was an unusual experience for him. She was not arrogant, but she was stubborn—and while she was clearly introverted, she had an outgoing streak, and a brash—sometimes offensive—sense of humor, and it grated on him.

But she had warmed to him quickly and, in spite of the circumstances, had trusted him almost immediately. She’d told him everything—enough for him to piece together her entire life story. Her father was French-Canadian. Her mother had immigrated from an eastern soviet bloc country in the seventies. They’d moved to California when she was still a child so that her father—who had built his wealth in lucrative construction contracts with corrupt clients—could capitalize on the tech boom. She’d been a bit troubled, at times, but she’d hidden it well, and lived up to their high expectations.

She’d confided in him that—in spite of what she accomplished—she’d always felt like there was a darkness in her, and that she used to find relief in doing bad things, because the guilt reminded her that she wasn’t an inherently awful person.

He didn’t tell her much of anything about himself.

She seemed to like being around him—she particularly enjoyed teasing him. Even when her jokes were met with a blank stare she would burst into laughter. He didn’t understand her at all.

Eventually he resigned himself to the fact that she simply _liked_ him. It wasn’t that he had disliked her—he’d been suspicious of her, and frustrated that he didn’t intimidate her, but she wasn’t the worst he’d dealt with.

Hugo had caught him rolling his eyes at her—she’d burst into a comedy routine that had Walt in stitches.

“What?” Hugo had asked.

Ben shook his head.

“A teenage daughter didn’t prepare you for this?”

Ben looked startled.

“I’m sorry man,” Hugo said immediately, “I didn’t mean to remind you—”

“It’s not that—it’s just—not that.” He shook his head again. “She’s not a child.” He realized that, at twenty-nine, she was twenty years his junior and—in theory—young enough to be his daughter, but the thought seemed absurd. He saw her as a peer—as a friend. It was a startling realization if ever he’d had one.

Over time, he got used to her company. He expected her presence and found himself waiting for her before getting started on any projects around the compound. It became unusual for him to do things on his own.

She asked questions constantly—about the Island, about what they were doing, about DHARMA. It was irritating, to some degree. But it reminded him that there was beauty in this place—that the history was not all bad. And while she pressed him for better explanations of the things that didn’t make sense, she accepted it all as true, simply because he was the one telling her.

He described the DHARMA stations to her in some detail. He probably should not have been surprised that she wanted to see them—the ones that were left.

He decided that the Pearl would be an interesting day trip.

“It’s my birthday,” he told her. “Would you like to go for a hike?”

“It’s your birthday, Linus? Did you just bring that up so that I wouldn’t say no?”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “You can say no.”

“Are you sure want to spend the day hiking around with me?”

“I suppose.”

“What birthday is this?”

“Fifty,” he admitted.

“Oh my!” Her eyebrows shot up. “Will you part your hair behind?” she asked with a sly smile. “Will you wear the bottoms of your trousers rolled?

“Yes, yes. _I grow old_.”

She snickered.

He’d caught the reference right away. He’d found himself going back to that poem lately, seeing more and more of himself in J. Alfred Prufrock. He’d come to accept that his time had passed. He was content to defer to Hugo—to do what needed doing. Before she’d arrived, he’d spent much of his free time walking along the beach, ruminating over his mistakes, thinking about what he would change, if he could. He would die here, eventually—it was more than he deserved.

He wondered what had brought those words to Valerie’s mind—perhaps she saw herself in the enigmatic women Prufrock so feared—and he wondered, if that was the case, how she saw herself in relation to him. Perhaps fittingly, he had no sense of what she was thinking—or what she’d meant by it—and he dared not ask.

They took the van as far as they could and got to walking. He led the way, setting a fairly aggressive pace—determined in some way to prove himself fit in spite of his age. The walk took them up a ridge that offered an incredible view of the entire island.

Valerie had to stop to catch her breath. “It’s kind of beautiful,” she told him.

He glanced at her. “I suppose it is.”

“Ben,” she began.

He knew a question was coming. 

“A couple of times, Hurley has said something to the effect of ‘everyone is brought here for a reason.’”

Ben nodded. “It’s something like that—to the extent any of us really understand it.”

“Why do you think I’m here?” she asked bluntly.

He took a deep breath. “I don’t know—it seems right that you’re here, whatever the reason.”

“Right?”

“Just an innate sense that you’re not a disruption—you’re part of the plan. If that makes sense.”

“Glad I’m not a disruption,” she replied quickly.

“To the Island,” he corrected. “Can’t say you didn’t disrupt _anything_.”

She laughed and touched his shoulder.

He looked over at her, startled, and she met his eyes with a smile. A thought popped into his head—an answer to her question—but he suppressed it immediately.

They reached their destination right about noon.

It was a particularly hot day—and while the Pearl offered a taste of the Island’s bizarre history, the adjacent pool of water was, in the immediate, a more appealing attraction.

Valerie started kicking off her shoes the moment she saw it.

“Val, wait,” he interrupted, as she stuffed her socks into her shoes.

She paused and stared at him expectantly.

“There are dead bodies in there, I believe,” he explained, with a slight grimace.

“Recent ones?”

“Well, no—it’s been a decade or two I suppose.”

“Okay,” she replied, and dove in.

He sighed and slowly unlaced his shoes, placing them carefully away from the water. He rolled up the bottoms of his pants, smiling wryly as he realized that her mockery had been prophetic.

He sat at the edge of the pool and dipped his feet in, watching as she glided through the water, repeatedly diving down and bobbing back up to gasp for air. She swam towards him, mischief in her eyes.

“I think I see something at the bottom,” she told him, pulling her wet hair back.

“A piece of the plane?”

“Maybe—it’s right under me,” she explained.

He looked down, trying to peer into the water. “I can’t see anything.”

“Like _right_ under me,” she insisted, swimming closer to him to give him a better view.

He leaned forward, squinting intently. Before he realized what she was doing, she had grabbed him by the arm and dragged him into the water.

He emerged, sputtering and displeased.

She laughed.

He was too stunned to immediately chastise her. He swam over to her and started to speak.

She splashed him in the face and started giggling again.

He splashed her back, which only made her laugh harder. He cracked a smile.

He couldn’t think of anything to say to her. He watched her treading water as she laughed to herself—until her face grew serious and she drifted closer to him. She blinked slowly. The air suddenly felt thick and heavy in his lungs.

He was frozen, but—at the same time—he felt himself leaning towards her. His heart was pounding, though he didn’t quite know why.

There was a flash of lighting and a clap of thunder. The sky opened up, the rain coming down in violent sheets.

It startled them both out of the sunbaked haze they were in.

They climbed out of the water, picking up their already drenched shoes.

“Over here,” he shouted to her over the roar of the sudden rain.

She helped him open the hatch to the Pearl station. It hadn’t been opened for some time, but it was not too difficult to manage.

She followed him down the ladder and pulled down the hatch door as the lights flickered to life. She looked around at the strange room they were in—with its dusty walls and outdated tv screens. The clattering sound of the rain was muted by the hatch door.

She shivered. Her lips were blue.

His mind flashed back to the moment he first saw her—cold and lifeless in her boat. It had pulled at his heartstrings to see a person so delicate and vulnerable. There was an irony, he supposed, in how utterly lacking in fragility she’d turned out to be.

“Let me see what I can find,” he told her. There were no clothes, but there were several musky old towels and a large DHARMA issue wool blanket. She grabbed a towel from him greedily and wrapped herself in it.

She wiggled out of her shorts from under the towel and tossed them onto the control panel. “No time to be modest,” she offered by way of explanation. She raised an eyebrow at him.

“I’ll be fine,” he told her sternly.

“At least it’s not entirely my fault that all your clothes are wet?”

He glared at her. “Had we come straight into the station, we would have missed the rain.”

“I really do think you should take your pants off.”

He considered arguing with her, but she wasn’t wrong that it would be uncomfortable to sit around in cold wet khakis. He went to the bathroom and re-emerged with a towel around his waist.

She yawned. “Isn’t that better?”

He shrugged and sat down beside her on the floor. “I suppose so.”

She grabbed the blanket from him and shook out the dust. She draped it over the both of them and leaned her damp head against his shoulder.

He looked down at her, startled at the sudden closeness. She shot him a look—daring him to take issue with it. He exhaled heavily and leaned his head back against the wall. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her lips curling into a half smile.

He was woken a couple of hours later to Valerie gently nudging his shoulder. “I think it’s stopped,” she told him, getting up. He looked away as she pulled her shorts back over her hips. She tossed him his pants—still damp, but not soaking.

She waited in the bathroom as he dressed himself.

He climbed out to the hatch and unlatched the door. Valerie was right—the rain had stopped. The sun was as bright and hot as it had been before the sudden burst of rain.

She was quiet as they walked back to the van. Every so often he glanced back over his shoulder at her—the look on her face was deeply pensive.

The silence continued as he drove them back to the compound. He looked at her deliberately as he backed the van into its spot, an eyebrow raised questioningly.

“So,” she asked, “how was your birthday?”

“Not bad,” he replied, “all things considered.”

She looked disappointed by his answer.

“Quite a bit wetter than I would have liked,” he added.

She laughed quietly.

He opened the door for her, and they walked together towards the houses. The sky was darkening again, and Valerie started to jog.

“It’s going to rain on us again, Linus,” she called back at him.

But Ben’s mind was elsewhere. He stopped in his tracks. He could see his house from here—the kitchen window stared back at him.

This was where Alex died, in this exact spot. He imagined what she must have seen in her last moments—his callous, selfish stare. His words—the harsh, cruel lies that spilled from his lips as he chose himself over her.

He fell to his knees just as the rain started again.

Valerie turned around. He hadn’t told her any of this.

She ran back over to him. “What’s wrong?”

He looked at her, unable to conceal the grief in his eyes. He sat down in the cold mud.

She sat down next to him.

“This is where she died,” he told Valerie, unable to offer a more fulsome explanation.

“Who?”

“My daughter,” he told her, staring at the ground. “It was my fault. I could have saved her—my own daughter—I could have stopped him. He shot her in the head—right in front of me—and I could have stopped him.” His lip curled in disgust and he looked directly at Valerie. “I chose to save myself.”

She bit her bottom lip and squeezed his forearm. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “That’s a heavy burden to bear.”

He nodded.

She didn’t ask any more questions. They sat together in the mud and pouring rain for a while. Eventually, he took a deep breath and stood up. He offered her his hand, and she took it, pulling herself to her feet. He walked slowly towards his house—he was already so drenched that he was unbothered by the rain. She matched his pace, trudging along beside him.

“I could really go for a hot shower and some food,” she suggested, breaking the silence.

“I can make dinner,” he offered. “I can tell you about her, if you don’t mind.”

“That would be nice, I think,” she replied, and opened the door for him. She followed him into the house, and he watched as she trotted off towards his bedroom, flinging a wet t-shirt over her shoulder.

For the first time, he was glad she was there.

***

Ben had decided to take Valerie’s advice. He filled Jack in on what they knew about freighter—giving him enough history to understand the animosity. He warned Jack not to trust anyone that came from it—that it wasn’t a miracle rescue—and told him to prepare the survivors for a fight.

Juliet volunteered to go with him to act as a liaison of sorts—and a spy, if necessary.

“Juliet—I’ve held you here long enough,” he told her. “Take the _Galaga_ —go home. Go back to your sister.”

She was stunned by the offer. “Are you serious? Or are you only offering because you know I’ll decline?”

“I do not expect you to decline,” he answered, taken aback. “Take it—please. It won’t be safe when the freighter arrives.”

She shook her head. “There are so many people here. I can’t leave them. If it goes bad, they’ll need doctors—I need to be here.”

“We have Ethan—they’ll have Jack.”

She bit her lip. The offer he’d made put her in an excruciating position.

“You are serious,” she realized, her head tilted slightly as she stared at him. She reached out and touched his shoulder. It was the first time she’d ever shown him any kind of genuine affection. “You’ve changed, Ben. Since she arrived—you’re the same man, but…” she trailed off, failing to find the words she was searching for.

“It’s not _her_ ,” Ben corrected. He took a breath. “It has nothing to do with Valerie. I—I watched Alex die.”

“What?”

“It was just a dream—but it was as vivid as a memory.” He didn’t want to tell her more than he had to. “The night the plane crashed. I dreamed that a man put a gun to my daughter’s head. He gave me the opportunity to save her—an ultimatum. Deliver myself as prisoner, or condemn her to death.” He sighed. “I chose myself—I thought I was calling his bluff. I gambled with her life, and I lost.”

Juliet frowned at him. “What do you think it means?”

“I don’t think there’s any hidden metaphor, Juliet. It was just a dream. But it woke me up to the fact that I had spent such a long time with the wrong priorities.”

He looked up at her. She searched his eyes, her brows furrowed.

“My own _daughter_ , Juliet. That’s not the man I want to be—no more worthy of this responsibility than Charles. Take the submarine.”

She thought about it, obviously touched by his sincerity. “No,” she told him. “Not yet. I need to help these people.”

He nodded. “If that’s what you want.”

She left with Jack the next morning.

Valerie stepped up behind him as he watched her leave. “You still love her, don’t you?” she murmured.

“No,” he replied quickly, surprising himself. “I don’t think I ever did.” He paused to think for a moment. “I suppose I wanted to love her,” he continued, speaking with analytic detachment, “but I’m not sure I really understood what that meant.”

He turned back to Valerie, her large brown eyes looking up at him with a strange, standoffish hopefulness.

His mind flashed sharply to the heat of her skin under his palms. He swallowed. That dream—or memory, he supposed—had been a storm of sensation and emotion more intense than anything he’d ever experienced. He pushed the thought from his mind.

It was another man’s memory—another man’s lust.

Her lips curled slowly into a smile. “You’ll figure it out,” she informed him, patting his shoulder.

He watched as she walked away from him, back towards his house.

She stopped, turning back to him. “Are you coming?” she called over her shoulder. “We have a lot of work to do.”


	15. The Cost of Living

**Chapter 15: The Cost of Living**

Ben woke up early on his birthday. He stepped into his office to grab some papers, making some effort to be quiet.

He watched Valerie as she slept on the sofa. She was curled up, facing the back of the couch, the thick blanket pulled up to her neck.

He sighed to himself. It had been weeks, and he hadn’t been able to put that dream out of his mind.

There was a bitterness in knowing the way that Valerie had felt about her version of him—knowing that she had burned for that man—ached for him—made love to him. It wasn’t that he wanted her—it was a far simpler thing; he had never understood what he was missing—never _really_ known what that kind of genuine passion was like. Now that he had tasted how it felt to be so intensely wanted, the absence of meaningful intimacy in his life stung in a way that it hadn’t before.

“Happy birthday,” she said, yawning. She stretched, cracking her stiff neck.

He was startled—suddenly nervous that she’d noticed him watching her.

“I didn’t get you anything,” she added, her lips curling slowly into a sly grin.

“That’s alright,” he answered dismissively.

“Let me make you breakfast,” she offered, sitting up.

“You don’t have to do that.” Her generosity made him uncomfortable.

She made a face at him.

“Fine,” he conceded. “Thank you—for remembering.”

She frowned slightly before replying. “It’s not the kind of thing I could forget.”

She pulled her long hair into a high ponytail as she stood up. She’d taken to wearing an old undershirt of his to sleep in, and it hung loosely over her stretchy black shorts. He’d tried not to read anything into the choice, but the conclusion that she’d worn his clothes out of some affection for him was hard to avoid.

She stretched, contorting herself until her back let out a series of pops.

“Not the best mattress,” she noted idly.

“You could sleep with me, I suppose,” he suggested. “In my bed, I mean,” he corrected immediately, feeling the hot rush of blood to his cheeks. “It’s more spacious than the tent was,” he added sheepishly.

“If you’re worried about the optics, Linus,” she replied, “ _you_ could always sleep on the couch.” She shot a smirk over her shoulder as she disappeared into the hall. 

He followed her to the kitchen and leaned against the door frame, watching silently as she floated around, pulling what she needed out of the fridge, spinning around to grab some spices from the cupboard, and turning the stove top on—all in a single smooth motion.

She seemed content—and she was so intently focused that he felt almost as though he was intruding on private moment. There was a familiarity in the way that she moved—this had been her kitchen once, he realized—or rather, _their_ kitchen.

She glanced over her shoulder and noticed him watching her.

He was briefly ashamed to have been caught staring again, but she grinned at him—a broad, warm smile so genuine that—for a moment—his heart stood still.

He returned the smile reflexively, overcome with a strange, aching happiness. He’d seen that smile before—he knew in his bones that he had.

It wasn’t his own memory, but it was hard to tease that truth away from the very real feeling it gave him. She was there, somewhere, in his mind.

“What?” she asked, still smiling.

“Nothing,” he lied, unable to come up with anything more convincing.

She turned back to the stove, a little grin still on her lips.

He wandered back into his office and sat down on the couch, pushing Valerie’s blanket out of the way. He reached into his pocket and started fiddling with the wedding band she’d given him.

He’d taken the ring off when they’d returned from infiltrating the survivors, but he hadn’t wanted to get rid of it. He’d justified keeping it by telling himself that it could be useful—that he might need to invent another marriage in the future. He realized now that he kept it because he liked what it symbolized—or a small part of him did, at least. 

He supposed that he did have feelings of some kind for her—there was no use in denying it. But that left him wrestling with an obvious question—would he feel this way if he had never had that dream?

It was as vivid in his memory as it had been in his sleep—the taste of her lips, the way her breath felt as she gasped into his ear. He shuddered.

In truth, he wasn’t sure if the dream was where it had begun. At Hydra, when she’d faced off with him—had he not felt something then?

The feeling he had for Valerie—whatever it might be—was decidedly strange. It was not at all the awed possessiveness that he’d once felt for Juliet—nothing like the infatuations he’d struggled through in his youth.

Valerie sparked a fire in him. She was a challenge—irreverent and clever and shamelessly manipulative. While both of them were intelligent and brave, Val had none of Juliet’s self-righteousness—or any of her inherent compassion or kindness. Valerie was cynical, shrewd, and largely indifferent to everyone else.

His attraction to Juliet had driven him to create a version of himself that he imagined she might find appealing. Valerie had no such effect on him. In spite of all the lies they had told together—and to each other—he’d felt far less compelled to put on act around her. With Valerie, he was surprisingly comfortable in his own skin.

Perhaps it had been because he hadn’t really liked her at first—there was something crass and domineering about her that had irritated him when they’d first met. He’d felt no desire to impress her. She’d mocked him, and argued with him, and refused to take him as seriously as he took himself. And for a while, he had hated her for it—but it had never been _hate_ , he realized now. It had been a formless passion—an intensity of feeling that he had not understood how to interpret or control.

In some ways, learning that she’d loved him in another life made all of this easier to swallow—but it confused him as well. He knew he wasn’t the man she’d loved. He knew that if she wanted him at all, it was only because he was a shade of the better man she’d known—one who had already atoned for his sins.

He’d be a fool to assume her smile had really been for _him_.

“It’s ready,” she called from the kitchen.

He shook himself out of his daze and made his way to the table.

She’d prepared what could only be described as a small feast.

“This is incredible, Val,” he told her.

“You haven’t even eaten anything,” she replied.

He took his seat and let her fill his plate.

The food was, unsurprisingly, delicious—a recipe honed to his own tastes.

He chewed in thoughtful silence, musing over what their lives together must have been like. It certainly hadn’t been limited to that one night—she had been a part of his life.

“Can I ask you something,” he asked eventually “about you—and him?”

She nodded, her mouth full of eggs.

“You and he were—you were— _involved_ , as it were?”

She smiled at him, amused by his stammering. She nodded again.

“And—because, I suppose I’ve never been very—and you are—I imagine—how did that transpire?”

“The usual sort of way, I guess,” she replied evasively.

“What does that mean?”

“Why do you want to know?”

He wasn’t really sure why he’d asked. There were so many other things that he needed to understand—what had happened to him—to the Island. But he was fixated on Valerie—on how a woman like her could have _wanted_ him as much as she did. He supposed that he needed to be certain that it wasn’t merely a dream.

“It’s my birthday. Humor me.”

“We spent a lot of time together. You were kind of stuck with me. One thing led to another.”

She spoke to him not as though they were discussing another man, he realized, but as though he was an amnesiac—as though these were _his_ memories—as though one day he might wake up and remember the life they’d shared. He wondered if that was what she was hoping for.

“How?” he asked.

“How did one thing lead to another?”

He nodded.

“Specifically?” she asked. He was surprised to see a hint of a blush on her cheeks.

“Yes, specifically.”

She bit her lip before answering.

“I was in love with him,” she began, switching deliberately to the third person, “just really, stupidly in love with him. I was losing my mind over it—I’d never felt so sure of anything in my life.” She grinned and glanced down at the table. “And you—he—I don’t think he even noticed. He didn’t really like me very much at first. But I was—and this may shock you—a bit stubborn.”

He chuckled to himself.

“I think it didn’t even cross his mind that I could be pining after him—”

Ben nodded.

“—but he figured it out eventually,” she continued, with a wry smile. “He walked me home from the beach, once, in the middle of the night. He invited me in. And then—well—one thing led to another.”

He felt his cheeks grow hot.

“That’s the gist of it—unless you need me to be more specific?”

“Oh, no, no—I think—I think know.”

She reached across the table and patted his hand. “I know it’s strange,” she reassured him. “I know you’re not the same person. I mean, in many ways, you are—but as much as I want him back, I know better than to expect…” she trailed off.

“Val,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I think—”

He was interrupted by a firm knock at the door.

“Benjamin!” Richard demanded, a clear urgency in his voice. “It’s here.”

Ben froze for a moment, frowning at Valerie.

He jumped up and rushed to the door, just as Richard was letting himself in. He was startled to see John Locke standing behind Alpert.

Alpert marched directly into the kitchen, locking eyes with Valerie just as she took another bite of her breakfast.

“Morning,” she said, her mouth full.

He shot her a derisive look and turned back to Ben.

“The Kahana, Ben—it’s already offshore. Someone parachuted in a few days ago—the survivors kept it hidden from Jack and Juliet.”

Ben blinked. “Alright,” he answered simply. “Are you going to explain what John Locke is doing in my house, Richard?”

Richard shrugged. “We found him at the fence—trying to figure out a way around it.”

“And you invited him in?”

John was irritated by Ben’s dismissive comments. “Nice to see you too, Dean—or Benjamin, I guess it is.”

“I’m sorry, John. The ruse was a necessary evil, you understand. I trust there are no hard feelings.”

Locke tilted his head thoughtfully. “Remains to be seen,” he replied.

“The parachutist—do we have him?”

“Her,” Locke corrected. “Naomi. She’s at the beach camp. She said she was looking for your friend from the Hatch—Desmond Hume. Nice guy—seems a little disconnected from reality, but he’s a good man. Seems to think you’re alright. Likes your wife. The parachutist—she says her ship is some sort of rescue mission.”

Ben glanced at Valerie. “It’s not a rescue mission,” he told Locke.

“That’s what the Doc said—but he’s having a hard time convincing the rest of them—especially Desmond.”

“Were you convinced?”

“I had an interesting conversation with a man in the jungle,” Locke explained.

“A man in the jungle?”

“My father. Told me to come here and ask you about a man named Jacob.”

Ben frowned.

“He said you’re lying about the ship to keep us all on the Island.”

“So that’s why you’re here? To expose us? The people on that ship will kill us all before letting a single one of you leave, I assure you.”

“No—I’m here to help you. If there’s anything I know about Anthony Cooper, it’s that I should never trust a word he says.”

“Ben,” Valerie interrupted suddenly, “where’s Alex?”

It was still early enough in the morning that he hadn’t grown concerned by her absence, but Valerie was right—this much activity should have woken her up. He tore down the hallway and opened the door to her room, finding her bed empty.

“She’s not here.”

“I’ll go find her.”

“We’ll have to leave the Barracks—head to the Temple,” Ben told her, grabbing her hand. “We’ll have to go _now_.”

“I’ll get her—she’s probably with Karl. We’ll meet you there,” she ducked back into the kitchen to stuff a last bite of breakfast into her mouth and disappeared into his office.

Ben covered his mouth as he stared out the window. He’d been so distracted by the freighter—and Valerie—that he hadn’t noticed Alex was gone.

She emerged from his office ready to head into the jungle—she’d changed out of the white t-shirt she’d pilfered from him and into a black tank top and drab cargo shorts, and pulled her hair into a tight braid.

“In case I don’t see you again, Linus, it’s been nice knowing you,” she said, as she stepped out onto his porch. There was a cheerful sort of sarcasm in her voice that he immediately understood was meant to mask the pain she was in.

He followed her outside.

“Thank you,” he said simply, and he meant it. She would give her life to save Alex, if it came to that. They both knew it was a possibility. A simple thank you was far from adequate—but he could not find any better words.

Her eyes were screaming out for him. He was surprised to realize that he understood what she was feeling. Valerie had said a final goodbye to him before, and she was struggling not to see the man that she lost. She was holding back the words she would have said to her version of him.

He was struck suddenly by the beauty of her face—that slender upturned nose, those big dark eyes, the thick eyelashes that cast a delicate fluttering shadow on her lightly freckled cheeks. And her lips—full and expressive—pursed tightly now as she contained whatever storm of emotion she was experiencing.

She turned away to leave.

“Val,” he said urgently.

She looked back in acknowledgment.

“I—” He faltered. He just wanted to _touch_ her.

He stared dumbly at her, hoping that she’d know what he was thinking.

She seemed to have some idea, because she rushed back to him, throwing her arms tightly around him. He closed the embrace, feeling the softness of her hair against his nose.

She pulled away and looked up at him. “Sorry about this,” she warned, and firmly kissed his cheek.

He was too startled to respond.

She pulled back again with a hint of disappointment in her eyes.

“Take care of yourself, Val,” he called after her as she trotted away.

“I’ll see you later,” she told him, biting down a smile.

“Later,” he agreed breathlessly, unable to produce a more complete response.

Richard met him at the door with a judgmental frown.

“Don’t give me that look.”

“What look?’

“It’s not what you think,” Ben snapped.

“What is it, then?”

He scoffed at Richard. “Not _that_ ,” he answered, waving his hand in the air. “It’s complicated.”

“Hm,” Richard grunted in reply.

“John?” Ben called, shooting an annoyed glance over his shoulder at Richard.

“In here,” Locke’s voice replied from his office.

Ben found Locke inspecting his collection of books.

“This isn’t a library, John. What can I do for you?”

“Something my father told me—he said that Jacob is the reason I am here, and that I needed _you_ to take me to him.”

Ben frowned. “I thought we already established that your father is a liar.”

“He is—of course, that wasn’t really my father, was it?”

“I rather doubt it.”

“Who is Jacob?”

“The best person to ask just left to find Ben’s daughter,” Richard interjected from the doorway.

Ben raised an eyebrow and glanced back at Richard. There was something slightly accusatory in his tone of voice—he knew it was a lie. Richard had never trusted Valerie.

“Well, Richard, no one has known Jacob as long as _you_ have.”

“Why do I feel like I’m missing part of this conversation?” Locke interjected.

“John,” Ben answered, “we’re _all_ about to head out. You’re welcome to join us.”

“I need to talk to Jacob,” John insisted. “I need to know why we’re here—why I’m here—why he gave me my legs back.”

“Well, my tumor was very real, and yet, as you can see, I too am up and walking—it just seems to be something he _does_.” He paused to let John understand that his situation was not unique. “We’re going to a place we call ‘The Temple’—does that interest you?”

Locke’s brows shot up.

“It’s a start, I guess.”

“Wonderful,” Ben replied. “Let’s get ready to leave.”

***

Valerie’s thirtieth birthday came a little more than six months after her arrival on the Island. She’d hoped that it might elude the attention of her new family, but she had no such luck.

Walt had opened the door to her house and let Vincent wake her up. The dog’s big slobbery kisses were, admittedly, a welcome surprise. Hugo informed her that they’d managed to get something special dropped in and were planning a dinner for her.

One the one hand, she was touched that they’d put in so much effort just for her—but on the other, she didn’t feel that she deserved it.

She spent the afternoon moping around distractedly. She sat at her own kitchen table, staring blankly out of her window. She was only here because of the horrible, selfish things that she’d done. That knowledge lingered ominously at the edges of her mind—she would have to pay for what she did, eventually.

Hurley had never pressed her for the truth—it wasn’t important to him, so long as she meant well now. He was forgiving, and kind—and naïve.

Ben was a different story. Ben had a darkness too—she could tell that there were parts of himself that he wished he could excise. He’d alluded to some terrible things—violence and cruelty. She’d assured him that she was certain it wasn’t as bad as he was making it out to be, but privately she was sure it was worse.

It didn’t bother her at all—not because she had a particular capacity for forgiveness, but because she’d fallen horribly in love with him.

It had happened almost immediately.

She remembered the exact moment. She’d been sitting by herself on the swing set at night and while watching him stroll over to talk to her, she’d been struck by his icy, unreadable stare. There had been that telltale catch of breath in her chest—that electricity of new attraction—and she’d just _known_.

He had not felt the same way. In the beginning, he’d made no secret of the fact that he was annoyed by her presence. He seemed to dislike her company, and while he clearly felt that helping her was his responsibility, he avoided doing more than the bare minimum.

His apparent disdain for her diminished with time—and with her persistence. They’d grown closer, and he seemed to have developed a sort of trust in her. But he was oblivious to the tension she was feeling, and she had resigned herself to living with that frustration.

Because of his callousness, she’d struggled to figure out _why_ she felt the way she did. Infatuation is a funny thing. Ben was twenty years older than her, not handsome in any traditional sense, and had been distinctly unkind to her—and yet she’d never been more attracted to a man in her life. It was something about who he was—the tired grief that he carried around but never acknowledged, the deliberate intellectualism in the way he spoke, or the palpable sense that he was constantly trying to atone for something. Maybe it was that she saw shades of herself in him.

He’d almost kissed her once—or so she’d convinced herself. They’d been swimming in the pool of water by the Pearl. She’d felt _something_ from him—but the moment had passed. They’d never spoken of it, and she carried the weight of that unasked question around with her like a heavy shadow.

“Not big on birthdays?” Ben’s voice suddenly inquired, startling her out of her thoughts.

He’d let himself in and was standing in her kitchen, staring at her—his expression characteristically unreadable.

“Jesus fucking Christ—you scared the shit out of me,” she informed him, sitting upright.

“I _did_ knock,” he replied.

“Sorry—I was in my own head a bit, I guess.”

“I’m not big on birthdays either, really,” he continued, taking a seat across from her.

“We had a whole—thing—on _your_ birthday,” she pointed out. It had felt a little bit like a date at the time, but she knew it wasn’t how he would describe it, so she avoided using the word.

He nodded thoughtfully. “It was a good one,” he conceded, “but I always find them a bit painful.” His face creased into a deep frown. “My mother died the day I was born,” he told her. “I was alone with my father for a long time. He marked that day every year in mourning.”

“What was he like?” she asked gently. Ben had never told her anything about his parents, and she assumed there was a great deal of pain behind that omission.

“Roger? Roger was a lonely, bitter man—angry—a drunk.”

The reason Ben didn’t drink much, she suspected.

“He blamed me for her death, and he was a cruel, selfish father.” He sighed and looked at her seriously. “I killed him.”

She raised her brows at him but didn’t say anything. The look on his face told her that he’d expected her to recoil from him. She wasn’t bothered—she wasn’t even particularly surprised.

“It was during the purge,” he added. “I made a point of watching him die.”

Ben had told her about the purge in loose terms, and with some degree of shame. He hadn’t orchestrated it, but she understood that he had been involved—probably more involved than he’d wanted her to know.

He looked at her intently, waiting for her reaction.

“I killed a man,” she blurted out, the words tumbling from her mouth before she could think about whether or not she should speak them.

“Did you really?” he replied, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table. She had—like him—expected a different reaction—revulsion, or perhaps concern—but he was intrigued.

Valerie sighed, meeting his curious gaze. She’d never really felt guilty for what she’d done. If anything, she felt bad about keeping it a secret from Ben. She hadn’t really wanted to explain it to him—she wasn’t sure how he’d think of her after he’d heard the truth.

“I got involved with some shady people,” she explained “which is to say I deliberately involved myself in their business. This was while I was a prosecutor—which was what made me useful to them. It had all spiraled into something larger than I’d ever intended, but I was managing.”

She leaned back in her chair and turned her eyes back to the window. It was easier to confess if she wasn’t looking at him.

“We’d made enemies who were threatening things I didn’t want a hand in causing. The man I was working with—a spineless, limp-dicked narcissist—grew a backbone when I suggested some alternatives that threatened to reduce his income. They weren’t going to just let me leave.” She stopped herself and glanced at Ben. He was staring with intense focus at her face.

“He confronted me, and I realized that they were going to have me killed,” she finished.

Ben’s face curled into a frown.

“I didn’t have to think about it. I didn’t really see any other choice. I had a gun in my bag, and I shot him—three times, just to be sure. He didn’t deserve to die. He wasn’t a good person, but he didn’t deserve to die. He was just—he was in the way.”

She made eye contact with Ben. He sighed and leaned back in his chair.

“I knew the guys we worked for would assume he was killed by the people who’d been threatening us. I knew that would probably mean more people would die—but it bought me a bit of time. We’d considered seizing the _Rabbit_ in one of my drug cases, so I knew where it was—and I took it. And the rest, you know—more or less.”

“So this moping really isn’t about your birthday is it?”

“No. I just—this place has been a safe haven. I don’t feel all that guilty for what I did—even though I probably should—but I know that I can’t deserve _this_.”

Ben started laughing—a little chuckle that grew into a warm belly laugh.

“What?” she asked, unable to stop herself from laughing with him.

“Val—you do realize that you fit right in here, don’t you?”

“What is that supposed to mean?” she asked, leaning over onto her elbows to face him. “Why is that funny?”

He smiled slightly. “You’re no worse than any of us. Least of all me.”

“I know what you’ve done, Ben. It doesn’t bother me.”

“I haven’t told you everything.”

“Of course not, but I know you’re not a fundamentally bad person.”

He glanced at her, hesitating. “I’m not so sure about that.”

“Tell me.”

“I’d rather not.”

“It’s my birthday,” she reminded him.

“I suppose that means I’m not allowed to refuse?”

She smirked, nodding at him.

“Alright,” he conceded, a slight grin on his lips.

He told her everything—the purge, taking Alex as a baby, the usurping of control from Charles Widmore and all the manipulations that followed. He told her about Juliet, and Goodwin, and the other lives he’d so callously sacrificed. He told her about how his blind quest for vengeance led him to point a gun at Penelope Widmore and her three-year-old son. He told her about Jacob, and how, in spite of everything, Hugo had offered him redemption.

She could tell by the shift in his voice that it was a relief for him to unburden himself. 

She fell into a sort of hopelessness as she listened. He didn’t see her the way she wished he would—not at all. He cared about her, but he didn’t want her the way she wanted him.

“I’ve already told you about my daughter,” he added quietly. “I can’t imagine doing anything more unforgivable than what I did in that moment. I’ll never shake that memory from my mind.”

Val nodded. He’d told her about Alex, and she knew the details were too painful talk about.

She reached out and touched his hand—almost without thinking. He looked at her sharply. There was something in his eyes—a vulnerability she hadn’t seen before—a window into the depths of his grief.

She wanted to kiss him.

Instead, she did something she hadn’t been able to do in years—she started to cry.

The tears flooded her eyes and ran unbidden down her cheeks. He frowned and stood up, walking around the table to her. He pulled her out of her chair, and she folded into his shoulder, sobbing freely into his sleeve.

She was crying for selfish reasons—she was crying because this might be the only time he would hold her, and she was crying because he didn’t love her. But the tears came from a deep well—she cried for future that she had lost, for the family she would never see again, and for the things that she had done.

She felt him rest his cheek on the top of her head, and she clutched at the fabric of his green shirt, letting the sobs run their course.

“It’s alright,” he hummed reassuringly. She inhaled deeply, feeling the warmth of his arms and committing the smell of his chest to memory.

She bit her lip to hold back the things she wanted to tell him.

“Thanks,” she said instead, releasing him from the embrace. “I didn’t know I needed that.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “I know how you feel,” he said, and she believed him.


	16. The Best Laid Plans

**Chapter 16: The Best Laid Plans**

Valerie had spent the better part of two days making methodical sweeps of the jungle, looking for Alex. There were a few spots nearby that were particularly suited to lovers’ trysts, and she’d checked those first—to no avail.

That left Rousseau. It had been weeks since Alex had learned about her mother—it wouldn’t be all that surprising if she’d decided to take Karl and go looking for the French woman. Alex was smart enough to figure out where Rousseau’s camp was. That’s where Val was headed next.

Ben hadn’t told Alex about the freighter and the threat that it carried—she’d have no reason to think that the Barracks could be evacuated at a moment’s notice. And her father had been distracted lately—while he’d managed to undo some of the strain on their relationship, he still put his work first.

Valerie knew that she had been a distraction to him as well. Since learning who she really was, he’d been in a strange sort of state. He looked at her differently—there were shades of her version of him in his eyes now. She wondered whether he felt any of it, or if those looks were because he was just stunned to learn that someone had loved him.

She wasn’t sure how to feel about him. He wasn’t _her_ Ben. She’d loved that man very deeply, but he was gone—she’d held him as he died. But this man was still _Ben_ —and she felt the same magnetic attraction to him that she’d felt when she’d first met _her_ Ben—and, in spite of everything, her body wanted to do something about it.

She’d considered the moral implications of acting on that attraction. It had only been months since he’d died, so, in theory, it seemed too soon—but it wasn’t as though she had moved on. The only reason she wanted to sleep with Ben was because he was nearly the same man, and she loved him in the same way. Perhaps _love_ wasn’t the right word. Then again, perhaps it was. In any rate, she hadn’t figured out what to do.

The sound of footsteps startled her out of her daydreaming. She darted behind a tree and held her breath.

“We have to find Naomi—if something went wrong with her chute—”

“She’s fine.”

“You can’t know that, Miles.”

Valerie peered out from behind the tree. There were three of them—a tall redheaded woman, a scrawny, scraggly looking guy, and an Asian man—Miles, she gathered from the conversation. She exhaled—they weren’t mercenaries. They were the scientists that had been sent along on the mission. She knew a bit about them—Miles had stayed in touch with Hugo, for a time. And Desmond had told her about the physicist—Daniel. Daniel was the reason she’d stashed a photo of Ben in her pocket.

She stepped out from behind the tree. “Can I help you?” she asked.

“Holy _fuck_!” Miles shrieked, fumbling with his gun.

“Calm down, Miles,” she instructed, holding her empty hands in the air.

“How do you know my name?” he demanded.

“I was eavesdropping.”

“Who are you?” the woman asked, eyeing Valerie. “Were you on Oceanic 815? Or are you from here?”

“A little of column A, a little of column B,” she answered opaquely. “Can I help you?”

Miles glanced at his teammates and back at Valerie. He pulled a photo from his pocket and showed it to Valerie. “Can you help us find this man?”

She started laughing—it was a surveillance photo of Ben. He appeared to be in line at an airport.

“Who in the name of _fuck_ let him go out in public wearing a white vest? Jesus.”

“You know him?” the woman asked.

“He’s my husband.”

“Your _what_?” Miles replied. “He’s not married.”

“I beg to differ,” she chuckled. “Valerie Linus,” she added. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“Miles,” he replied cautiously, tucking his gun away and taking her outstretched hand. “Miles Straume. This is Charlotte Lewis, and the fidgety guy is Daniel—”

“—Faraday, yes—I’m quite familiar with your work,” she said, turning to Daniel.

“You are?” he asked, frowning.

“I am,” she confirmed, nodding.

Daniel’s eyes widened. He didn’t say anything, but his lips curled into a slight smile.

“Are you aware that your husband is a mass murderer?” Miles asked pointedly.

“Yes—well—I mean he isn’t _really_. He participated in a _tiny_ little genocide. It wasn’t his idea. It was more of a disproportionate use of force in an armed conflict, if you really think about it. Still bad, I guess, but not _genocide_ bad.”

Miles squinted at her.

“He’s not the person that you’ve been told he is,” she continued. “ _Your_ boss is the one who ordered that genocide.”

“Disproportionate use of force, you mean?” Miles corrected.

Valerie stifled a laugh. “Ben is taking his people somewhere safe. I’m sure you saw the more heavily armed passengers on your ship. A lot of innocent people are going to die if we let your mission continue.”

“We have to find our leader,” Charlotte told her, ignoring the warning. “Naomi. Her comms have been down. We need to find her. If you won’t help us find _him_ , will you help us find her? She might be hurt.”

“She’s with the survivors—on the beach.”

“Is she okay?”

“I think so—maybe a little banged up.”

“She must have been a bit more than banged up,” Miles replied. “We didn’t hear from her at all—and she’d be doing everything she can to contact us.”

“Well that’s probably just because her comms are jammed—there’s a signal jammer in the Looking Glass.” Valerie’s eyes widened in realization as she spoke. “Oh, fuck. _Fuck_. We need to stop them before they do something stupid.”

She started walking, and the science team followed. Rousseau’s camp was near the Looking Glass station—she could head directly there and try to find Alex along the way. If she led them to the beach camp it might be too late to stop the survivors from trying something—but if they went directly to the station, there was a chance.

“Who is _they_?” Miles asked.

“The survivors.”

“What are they going to do?”

“Try to unjam that signal so that they can use Naomi’s comms.”

“Why is that stupid?”

“Because they’re all supposed to be dead, Miles, and if your _boss_ —who, I might add, is responsible for the fake fucking plane full of bodies on the floor of the Indian Ocean—finds out that they have the ability to tell the world they’re still alive—we’ll have another little light genocide on our hands.”

“What did our boss do?” Charlotte asked. “How do you know all of this?”

“We have our sources,” she replied evasively.

They marched quickly through the jungle until Valerie stopped in her tracks.

“What is it?” Miles asked.

Valerie ignored him. She’d heard a slight click in the distance.

“C’est toi, Danielle?” she called out.

“Val, it’s me,” Alex answered, lowering her rifle as she rushed up to Valerie.

“Did you find your mother?” she asked, pulling the girl into a hug.

“Yes—what’s wrong? Who are these people? Where’s my dad?”

“They evacuated—they went to the Temple. I came to find you—he’s expecting you to join them—is Karl with you?”

“I’m here,” Karl replied, stepping out of the woods.

“Okay, good,” Valerie replied, assessing the situation. “I think you guys should stay here. Hide.”

“What? Why?”

“There are some hired guns coming to the Island. They’re looking for your dad. If they get a hold of you—they’ll use you to get to him. The best thing to do is stay with your mom. She knows how to hide.”

“Wait, did you guys all know this was happening? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“We should have—it wasn’t my call.”

“Did you know about my mom—who she was? That she was alive?”

Val nodded. “It wasn’t my place to tell you. I’m so sorry. I’m glad you found her, though. She can keep you safe.”

“Who are these people?” Karl asked.

“Oh, uh—time nerd, talks to dead people, lady Indiana Jones,” she explained, pointing at each of them in turn. “They’re from the freighter. But we’ve got to get to the beach before—”

She was interrupted by the sound of an explosion in the distance.

“Fuck,” Val said, her face falling. “We’re too late.”

Charlotte and Daniel shared a concerned glance.

“Alex, Karl—find Danielle and stay the _fuck_ out of sight,” Valerie instructed. “You three—we have to go. Now.”

They tore off towards the beach. Valerie could hear the sounds of screaming in the distance.

“Why are we running _towards_ the screaming?” Miles asked skeptically.

“We have to help them.”

They burst out of the tree line and onto a catastrophic scene. The water was littered with smoldering debris. Kate was comforting a screaming Claire while holding a sobbing Aaron. Desmond was facing the ocean with his hand over his mouth. Sayid was trying to calm Hurley as he shouted at the water for Libby, and Sawyer was pacing back and forth, swearing.

Far in the distance, Valerie could make out a diver climbing on to a dinghy.

“Sawyer!” she snapped.

He looked up, confused.

“What happened?”

“Wednesday, what the hell are you doing here? Who are these people?”

“We were with Naomi,” Charlotte explained. “What happened?”

Desmond walked over to them and put his hand on Valerie’s shoulder. “Charlie took Naomi and Libby down there to try to unjam the signal. They were down there for a while—Charlie radioed us to say it wasn’t Penny’s ship—then…” he drifted off as he noticed Daniel standing behind her. His face creased into a frown.

“Then it exploded,” Sawyer finished.

“They probably sent someone to blow it up,” Valerie explained.

“Who did?” Charlotte asked.

“Your people,” Valerie answered.

“They wouldn’t do that,” she replied defensively.

“Well,” Miles interrupted, squinting, “they might.”

“Wouldn’t blowing up the station kill the signal jammer?” Daniel asked, frowning.

Valerie pulled her hair away from her face. “Yes, but it’s also the hub for all of our external comms. Destroying it kneecaps us—limits the range of communications.” She looked around at the shell-shocked survivors. “Sawyer—where are Jack and Juliet?”

“They kept trying to warn us,” Sawyer replied, still distraught. “They said the ship wasn’t a rescue mission. We went behind their backs to help Naomi call her team.”

“You didn’t listen to them?”

“We thought Jack had been brainwashed—we thought Juliet was managing him—they weren’t making any sense.”

“Shit.” Valerie looked at the despondent Hugo. “Why did you let Libby go with them?”

“She insisted on helping—she said she was a good swimmer.” Sawyer answered sadly. “You never met Libby,” he noted. “How did you know about her and Hurley”

Valerie took a breath as she came up with a reasonable lie. “Juliet was spying on you all for Ben—just to keep an eye on things. We knew they were coming. She wanted to keep you safe.”

“Shit,” Sawyer answered.

Val wiped her face with her hands, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Listen up!” she shouted, waiting for the shaken group to pay attention to her. “This was horrible—but there’s nothing you can do now to undo it. There are some very bad people on that freighter. They are not here to rescue you. They are here to take Ben and exterminate everyone else.”

She heard Charlotte let out a slight gasp.

“I realize that you’re all in shock, but we have to act fast if you want to keep everyone safe.” She turned to Desmond. “Desmond, go with Kate and Sayid—take Claire and Aaron back to the camp. Tell Jack and Juliet what happened. Tell Juliet the Others have evacuated and gone to the Temple—she’ll understand what that means.”

“Daniel, Charlotte—you know about Tempest station, I take it?”

Charlotte nodded hurriedly.

“Go there—shut it off. Widmore knows about it—I know you were told that Ben might use it, but it’s not Ben I’m worried about.”

They looked at each other and nodded at Valerie.

“James, I need you to take Hugo and go to the Temple. I’ll draw you a map. Find Ben—tell him what happened. Tell him that he needs to get away from the Temple—anyone near him is in danger until we can stop these guys. If he stays with his people, they’re as good as dead.” She paused and thought about it for a moment, a rough plan forming in her mind. “Tell him to go _home_.”

“Shouldn’t Hurley go with Desmond?”

“He needs a goal right now—distract him. He can grieve later.”

“What about me?” Miles asked.

“You’re staying with me, Miles. I need your help.”

“Why would I help you?”

She stared him down. “What are your alternatives?”

“Fair enough.”

She turned back to address the group. “There’s not much time,” she told them. “Go!”

The group dispersed, following Valerie’s directions.

Daniel stopped at Valerie’s side. “You’re _familiar_ with my work?” he muttered quietly.

She smiled at him, nodding slightly.

“Incredible,” he replied distractedly, then jogged away, catching up to Charlotte.

As Valerie drew a map for Sawyer, Miles took Hugo aside. “She knew you loved her,” he said.

“What?” Hugo asked, his voice small.

“I can hear dead people—it’s what I do. Libby—she loved you too. She wants you to know that.”

Hugo nodded, his eyes wet. Sawyer smiled grimly at Valerie and led Hugo in the direction of the Temple.

“That was a nice thing you did,” she told Miles as they crossed back into the jungle.

He shrugged. “Whatever.”

“Look, I know you only care about the money. And I know you’re aware that Ben has access to loads of it.”

Miles looked up, his interest piqued. 

“How much are you getting paid?”

“One point six,” he answered quickly.

“Does five sound a bit better?”

“Are you serious?”

“If we can get rid of your mercenary friends with minimal collateral damage—I think that would be more than fair.”

“Why should I trust you?”

“I don’t know. But I’m pretty sure your current employer is going to let you die here so that you’ll never be able to tell anyone what you saw—just something to keep in mind.”

He grunted in acknowledgment. “So where are we going?”

“I think I know where your friends are going to go first.”

“And you _want_ to find them?”

“I have an idea. It’s—honestly, it’s probably fucking stupid. You’re going to hand me over to them and tell them who I am. They’ll use me as bait to get to Ben.”

“How do you know?”

“It’s just a guess—seems like the kind of tactic that would appeal to them.”

“So where are we going?”

“They destroyed the comms hub—they’ll probably want to destroy any possible means of escape. I’d bet Charles is banking on Ben trying to make a run for it. There’s a sub docked on the other side of the Island. It’s a long walk, but that’s my best guess.”

She explained the rest of her plan to Miles as they trekked across the Island to the Galaga. They made good time as they hurried through the jungle. It was a day and half away, but they were fueled by adrenaline—and the energy bars Valerie had stuffed in her pockets. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to go on.

Mid-morning on the second day of the walk, Miles stopped dead in his tracks.

“What?”

“Uh, there’s a big pile of genocide victims over there,” Miles said, clearly shaken as he pointed in the direction of the mass grave. He stopped for a moment, grimacing.

“Are you alright?”

“It _was_ a war,” he answered. “They’d invaded, in a sense.”

“They didn’t deserve to be dumped in a mass grave,” Valerie murmured.

“I didn’t believe you,” he admitted. “I thought Linus had just callously killed them all.”

“It’s easier to wrap your head around doing difficult things when you think your enemy is a monster,” Valerie replied. “But it’s never black and white.”

He nodded thoughtfully at her. “I guess not.”

An hour or so later, they heard the deep echoing crack of another bomb going off in the distance.

“Called it,” she announced, with a certain amount of smug satisfaction.

“The sub?”

“I don’t know what else they’d blow up.”

“Does this mean they’re close?”

“Probably. You better hold me hostage.”

Miles drew his gun and pointed it at her as they continued walking through the jungle.

It was only a few minutes before they were swarmed by a large group of heavily armed mercenaries.

“Don’t shoot!” Miles called out. “I’m with you guys. My name Miles Straume. My job was to find Benjamin Linus.”

“Who’s the bitch?” their leader asked, making his way to the front of the group. “She doesn’t look like a Benjamin to me.”

“I’m Valerie Linus,” she said, reaching into her pocket. She pulled the photo out and tossed it at his feet.

He knelt down to pick it up. He looked at the photo, then back up at her, frowning.

Valerie took a deep breath. “I’m Ben’s wife.”


	17. A Vigilant Watchman

**Chapter 17: A Vigilant Watchman**

Sawyer was out of breath and wild-eyed as he tried to explain to Ben what was going on.

“James—slow down. Where’s my daughter?”

“I don’t know—Valerie said she was safe. I think she didn’t tell me in case we got captured—I don’t know.”

“And what did she want me to do?”

“Leave.”

“Leave this place? This is the safest place on the Island,” he replied, gesturing at the wall of the Temple.

“It’s the other people,” Hurley explained softly. “They’re looking for _you_. If they find you here—everyone else is in danger.”

“She said you should go _home_ ,” Sawyer added.

“Did she say why?”

“No, but I think she had a plan.”

“You _think_?”

Richard emerged from the Temple, tailed by Locke.

“What’s all this?”

“They blew up the Looking Glass,” Ben explained calmly. “The survivors had gone in to unjam the signal. There were a couple of them inside at the time.”

“Who?” Locke asked sharply.

“Charlie—and Hurley’s friend Libby.”

“Oh. I’m so sorry Hugo,” Locke said.

Hurley sniffed back tears and tried to hide his frown. “Thanks dude,” he answered grimly.

“So, Valerie wants me to meet her at my house?” Ben asked again.

“I don’t know,” Sawyer repeated. “That’s where she wanted me to tell you to go.”

He glanced at Richard. “What do you think?”

“It could be a trap.”

“I suppose it could. What are the risks if I stay here? Do we risk losing everyone?”

“They’ve been blowing stuff up, Glasses,” Sawyer interjected. “I’d say that’s a pretty big risk.”

Richard nodded. “He’s not wrong.”

“I’ll go,” Ben decided.

“I’m coming with you,” Locke offered.

“You don’t want to stay here?”

“I want to talk to Jacob, Ben. Valerie’s my best shot at that, apparently.”

Richard glanced meaningfully at Ben.

Ben shrugged. “Suit yourself. I could use backup if things go south.”

“I’m coming too,” Sawyer announced. “I don’t know what she’s planning, but if you could use an extra trigger finger, I’m in.” He turned to Hugo. “Hurley, stay here.”

“No man, I’m coming with you.”

“It’s dangerous, Hugo,” Ben warned.

“I just watched my best friend and my girlfriend die,” Hugo replied. “I know I’m not going to be much help—but I can’t sit around hiding.”

Sawyer nodded.

“We better get going, then,” Ben told them. “Richard—you’re in charge. Do whatever you need to do.”

“I will,” Richard answered, a deep tiredness in his voice. “You’re not taking the tunnels?”

“Charles knows about the tunnels. If we bump into those mercenaries while we are underground, there’d be nowhere to hide. It would be a massacre.”

“You’re right,” Richard agreed. “Good luck,” he added. “I think you’ll need it.”

The group traveled back to the Barracks as quickly as they could. There did not appear to be any signs of the mercenary crew when they arrived—nor any signs of Valerie.

Ben led them into his house and shut the door. He rushed around the house drawing the curtains shut. He shuffled into his office and moved a bookcase, revealing a small stash of rifles. He handed one to John and another to James.

“Did you want one, Hugo?” he asked, sensing the man’s discomfort.

“No thank you,” he answered.

“Now what?” John asked.

“Now we wait, I suppose. Would you like to play a game of chess?”

Hours passed without incident. John was down two chess games to three. Hugo was taking a much-needed nap on the couch, and Sawyer had started picking at the contents of Ben’s fridge.

“Someone’s coming,” Sawyer announced, noticing a movement outside.

Ben glanced out the window in time to see a man hurtling across the lawn and onto his porch.

The man started banging frantically on the door. “It’s Miles,” he announced, “I’m from the freighter.”

“He was with Valerie,” Sawyer explained, opening the door.

Miles tumbled in, clutching at his stomach as though he’d just been punched in the gut. He thrust a walkie-talkie into Ben’s hand.

“He wants to talk to you.”

“Who?”

“The man in charge of the mercenaries.”

Ben frowned at him. Pieces of the situation felt uncomfortably familiar.

He pressed a button on the walkie. “Hello?”

“Am I speaking to Benjamin Linus?”

“You are.”

“My name is Martin Keamy,” the mercenary explained. “I’m an employee of Charles Widmore.” Ben’s blood ran cold at the sound of his voice.

“I know who you are, Martin Christopher Keamy,” Ben replied. “You spent five years as a Marine—distinguished service, honorable discharge. But since then, you've been a bit less than honorable, haven’t you? You’ve worked with a number of mercenary organizations, doing all sorts of unsavory things in East Africa. We can dispense with the formalities, Mr. Keamy—I know exactly who you are.”

There was a long pause before Keamy answered.

“Alright, Mr. Linus. Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to step out the front door, put your hands above your head, and walk straight to me. Once I have you, then I promise you that no one else in that house will be harmed.”

“You and I both know that once you have me, there's nothing to stop you from killing everybody else on this island.”

“Why don’t you take a look out your east window so that we can establish _exactly_ what the stakes are.”

Ben hurried over to his kitchen, and drew back the curtain. He looked out the window to see Keamy dragging a woman by her hair across the lawn.

_Alex._

Valerie had failed to stop this, but at least he knew what he had to do. He held up the walkie, waiting anxiously for Keamy’s next message.

“I didn’t know you had a wife, Linus. But if you don’t get your ass out here right now, I’m going to kill her.” Keamy forced the woman to her knees and jerked her head up to face the house.

It was Valerie. She’d taken Alex’s place.

She made eye contact with him and nodded. He wasn’t sure what that meant. He was relieved that his daughter wasn’t being dragged out at gunpoint, but he didn’t know with certainty that Alex was safe—and he couldn’t let Valerie sacrifice herself for him like this. He wouldn’t let that happen.

“What do you want?”

“Surrender yourself,” Keamy replied, and forced the walkie in front of Valerie’s mouth.

“Alex is okay, Ben,” she told him.

He exhaled.

“She’s with her mother. Don’t do what he says, okay? Just do—what you _did_. I promise it will be fine.”

Keamy yanked the walkie away, pushing his gun against the back of Valerie’s head. “Only chance, Linus.”

He hesitated for a moment, knowing how his hubris had cost him Alex. He didn’t want his last words to Valerie to be dismissive and cruel. But he trusted her, so he did as she told.

“She’s not my wife—she’s just some woman who crashed on 815 with the rest of them. She’s no one. She fooled you to keep herself alive. She means nothing to me.”

“Nice try, but I got the proof. Ten seconds.”

“There’s no proof, she’s really not—

“Nine.”

He stared blankly.

“Eight.”

Familiar words came spilling out of his mouth. “I'm not coming out of this house—so if you want to kill her, go ahead and do it.”

Keamy pulled the trigger. Ben’s heart dropped out of his chest.

But nothing happened. Valerie smirked. In Keamy’s moment of confusion, she pulled the knife strapped to his leg out of its sheath and stabbed him in the upper thigh. He buckled to the ground. She pulled the blade out of his leg and stabbed him decisively in the throat.

She drove the blade in until the hilt was just under his chin. Then she yanked it out, dropped it, and started running.

Ben grabbed a rifle and ran out the door.

“God damnit, Glasses,” Sawyer swore, and followed him outside.

The mercenaries were firing at Valerie as she ran. Ben and Sawyer fired back at them, giving her enough cover to make it to the door. She tripped and fell near the steps, but managed to pull herself up and stumble through the threshold.

Ben and Sawyer made it back inside, the door slamming behind them. The shots continued. Sawyer resumed firing back at them from the window. Ben rushed over to Valerie.

She had pulled herself up and was sitting with her back against the wall. She was covered in blood. Most of it was Keamy’s—but not all of it. She hadn’t tripped. She’d been shot.

She clutched his arm and gritted her teeth. She noticed him looking with alarm at the bullet wound under her collarbone.

“It’s okay, Ben. It’s fine.”

He tucked errant strands of hair behind her ear, and his fingers continued their path to the nape of her neck. He held her head in his hand. She looked up at him, her gaze steady and reassuring. She had done what she had come back here to do.

He was suddenly overwhelmed by the urge to kiss her. It seemed misplaced, given the circumstances, and he wasn’t sure where it had come from. It was the adrenaline—his heart was pounding out of his chest and he could barely breathe. But it was also her—her face, bloodied and serene—the unwavering trust in her brown eyes.

He held a trembling hand against the side of her neck and wiped some of the blood from her face with his thumb.

Part of him was afraid to close the space between them, but he did it anyway, his mouth crashing into hers with a nervous relief. The electric newness of the sensation struggled in his mind against a sense of comfortable familiarity.

She kissed him back, wrapping a blood-soaked arm around him.

Sawyer shot a surprised glance at Hurley. Hurley shook his head, equally confused.

Valerie pulled away after a moment. “You have to go call the smoke, hon,” she told him gently, brushing her fingers along his temple. “They’re still out there.”

Ben stood up in a daze and wandered into his office. He opened the bookshelf that concealed the hidden room, and made his way down to the basement.

Sawyer raised an eyebrow at Valerie. “Really?”

She smiled. “It’s complicated.”

***

Hurley had called for reinforcements shortly after Valerie had arrived. Desmond would be able to bring what they needed to fix up her boat. Coordinating that sort of thing was complicated, especially with a ten-year-old in tow. It had taken more than a year for them to make the trip.

They’d arrived in mid-November and—at Hurley’s request—had brought a frozen turkey and everything else necessary to make a thanksgiving dinner. Valerie had a family recipe and had argued with Ben about who would cook the dinner until they had compromised and figured out that the recipes were similar enough that they could just share the responsibility. It had, fortunately, turned out remarkably well.

It was interesting, Valerie thought, to watch their guests interact with each other. Penny, of all of them, seemed the most comfortable with everyone. It wasn’t necessarily genuine, but she was warm and engaging. Desmond was obviously fond of Hurley, and had a soft spot for Walt as well. But he eyed Ben with mistrust—well-earned, she understood.

As for Valerie, Desmond seemed oddly perturbed by her presence. He didn’t seem to know why, but there was something about her that confused him. She caught him frowning at her several times. If she had to guess, he was trying to place her face. She was fairly sure they hadn’t met, but perhaps she looked like someone he knew.

Charlie, for the most part, was shyly hiding behind his mother.

Ben sat quietly in the corner. He’d made a deliberate decision to put distance between himself and everyone else, conscious of the tension between himself and their guests.

She’d been looking at him all evening. Their eyes had met a few times and he’d smiled grimly at her. She knew that he was wallowing in guilt over what had happened with Penny, and she suspected that watching the pair of them with Charlie had also stirred memories of Alex.

Penny had chatted with Valerie—a superficial discussion about cooking, and the weather, and how difficult it could be to live in a place like this. Valerie had nodded, and chatted along—but for some reason, she felt strange about the conversation. She carried some of Ben’s guilt, she realized. Her friendship with him didn’t make her complicit in what he had done, certainly, but she had accepted him in spite of it—and that, of course, meant that she tacitly accepted what he had done to Penny and her family.

Penny didn’t seem to think so. She seemed worried about Valerie, and she peppered the conversation with a number of pointed questions—if she was okay here, if she was looking forward to leaving—questions that Valerie suspected were driven at determining the nature of her relationship with Ben.

Eventually, she excused herself from the conversation to start doing the dishes. She took her time with the scrubbing and rinsing, primarily because it kept her occupied and uninvolved in uncomfortable discussions.

Out of nowhere, Charlie wandered over to Ben and held up a book that he had pulled off of Hurley’s shelf. Ben looked up sharply across the room. Desmond started towards him, but Penny took him by the arm, pulling him back. She nodded at Ben, smiling softly at him. He shifted over in his seat. The boy sat down next to him and cracked open the book, quietly leaning against his shoulder.

Valerie looked over at Penny. “Thank you,” she mouthed.

Penny raised an eyebrow and tilted her head, a hint of a smirk playing on her lips.

Valerie grinned a little and shrugged back at her. Penny’s smile broadened slightly, and she turned back to Desmond.

The evening dragged on for a while. Charlie fell asleep on the couch, and Ben made sure not to disturb him as he rose. He wordlessly joined Valerie in doing the dishes.

She could hear a murmured exchange behind them.

“Is that…?” Desmond whispered

“No, no—not like that,” Hurley replied.

Penny laughed. “Well maybe not yet.”

She smiled to herself. Penny had figured it out, of course—though she seemed to have some sense of inevitability about the whole thing that Valerie didn’t share.

Ben seemed oblivious to her feelings for him, despite all she had done to make it obvious, and being so close to him like this—it was exhausting. She politely excused herself after the dishes were done.

Her gaze lingered on Ben as she left. He noticed, but he looked away. She sighed as she walked out the door.

Ben’s fifty-first birthday was just around the corner. It was hard to believe that she’d been here for more than a year. The Island was sort of a seasonless place. The days seemed to bleed into one another in a way that made the whole year feel like a few days—or a lifetime.

When she got back to her bungalow, she took a hot shower and dried her hair. Tomorrow would be a new day. Part of her wanted to stay awake—do something exciting—but the night had tired her out, so she went to bed even though it was still fairly early.

She drifted out of sleep in the middle of the night. Her first instinct was to try to go back to sleep, but it didn’t come easily. She checked her clock. It was nearly two, and she felt wide awake.

She blinked a few times, yawned, and got up. She went to the kitchen to get a glass of water. She sipped it slowly as she walked towards her window. There was a full moon—and so much light that she could see the entire compound.

She wasn’t the only one still awake. A light was on in Benjamin’s house, across the way. It was dim—a lamp in his office, she decided. He was up—reading, presumably. She wondered if he’d slept at all, or if being around Desmond and Penny was rendering that impossible.

She watched, longingly, for quite a while. Part of her wanted to walk over there and knock—finally get all of this off her chest. But she wasn’t bold enough for that.

Eventually, the light went out. She thought that he must have gone to bed, but moments later he stepped outside. He hadn’t changed since dinner. She watched him walk across the green, and down the path that meandered towards the beach.

She thought about following him, but she knew it was a bad idea.

She went back to the bathroom and washed her face with cold water. She stared at her reflection—bleary eyed, but looking more like herself than she had in a long time. The sun had been good for her—the smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose and cheekbones suited her face. And the gaunt, drained look that she’d earned over the last several years had all but disappeared. She brushed her hair and decided that she was satisfied with her reflection.

Some part of her had already decided that she was following him to the beach. She needed to have that conversation with him—to ask him if he’d really almost kissed her that day by the Pearl, or if it was all in her head—to ask him if he wanted her to stay.

She threw a dress on, and a sweater, and slipped out her door.


	18. No Rest for the Wicked

**Chapter 18: No Rest for the Wicked**

Ben emerged from his basement, wild eyed.

“Did you do it?” Valerie asked him.

He nodded.

“What did he do?” Sawyer asked Valerie.

“Reinforcements,” she explained, gritting her teeth.

“Hugo, there’s a first aid kit under the sink,” Ben instructed. He turned to Valerie. “There’s no time for any kind of analgesic—even if we had anything strong enough,” he told her apologetically.

“Do we have time for _any_ of this?” Miles asked, impatient and nervous.

Ben grimaced. “We’ll just have to slap a bandage on and hope it’s enough to make it out of here. If she keeps bleeding and loses steam—”

“We’ll have to leave her,” Locke concluded.

“We’re not _leaving_ Wednesday!” Sawyer exclaimed.

“Certainly not,” Ben added, glaring at Locke.

“Gentlemen, I am _fine_ ,” she declared, jumping to her feet. The movement drained her instantly—she felt dizzy and weak. She sat back down on the floor.

“Okay, maybe not,” she said. She clenched her jaw and took a sharp breath through her nose. When she’d been hit, there hadn’t been much pain. It had been hot—just a very intense, localized heat. She knew that once the shock started to subside, the pain would become much worse.

Sawyer and Locke fired a few more shots out of the window to keep the mercenaries at bay, driving them back into the jungle.

Ben grabbed the first aid kit from Hurley and knelt beside her. “It looks like it went clean through.”

“Fantastic,” she replied dryly.

“Hydrogen peroxide or rubbing alcohol?” he asked, holding the bottles in front of her.

“If I say peroxide can I drink the rubbing alcohol?”

Sawyer laughed.

Ben rolled his eyes and splashed the peroxide over the wound, clearing it gently with a cotton ball. She flinched slightly. She leaned over her knees so that he could get the entrance wound on her back.

He placed bandage pads on both sides of her wound then haphazardly emptied the contents of the kit into his messenger bag. “We'll do stitches as soon as we can,” he told her gently.

“I need my backpack,” she told him. “It’s in the closet downstairs. It’s ready to go.”

“I’ll go get it,” he assured her, getting up. He helped her to her feet and hurried across the room. He paused at the door to the stairs.

“You all need to get ready to run,” he informed the group.

“Run from what?” Hurley asked,

“Just—run,” Ben replied and disappeared back into the basement.

“What’s the deal with you and Glasses?” Sawyer asked Valerie, sitting beside her.

“Great question,” she answered glibly.

“You really do love him, don’t you?”

“I told you,” she replied, raising an eyebrow. “It’s complicated.”

“Ain’t it always.”

Ben burst back through the door and tossed Valerie her bag. She caught it, gritting her teeth through the pain, and slung it over her good shoulder.

“Everyone, listen up,” Ben announced. “When I give the signal, I need you all to run towards the tree line, as fast as you can.”

He paced over to the kitchen and pulled the curtain back to peer out of the window.

“What are we waiting for?” Sawyer whispered to Valerie.

“The smoke monster.”

He laughed for a moment, then realized that she wasn’t kidding. He whistled. “You’re serious?”

She nodded.

“Care to share any of that rubbing alcohol?” he asked.

They heard a rumbling in the distance.

“Out of the house,” Ben barked.

They ran through the door, pausing for a moment to marvel at the horrifying cloud of black that rattled violently through the trees.

They took off in the opposite direction, headed for the tree line bordering the other side of the Barracks. Valerie pushed herself as much as she could. Ben stayed beside her until they made it into the jungle.

“Where are we going?” Sawyer asked, turning to Valerie. She shrugged, shaking her head.

“We have to find the others,” Hurley said.

“We need to find Jacob,” John said decisively. He turned his gun on Ben. “You two are going to take me to him.”

“I need to find my daughter, John.”

“You don’t need us,” Valerie added. “Hurley knows how to find him.”

“I do?”

“He does?” Sawyer asked.

“Just—don’t think too much, Hugo. If he wants to be found, you’ll find him. We have to go find Alex. We have to make sure she's okay.”

“You don’t know _how_ to find him, do you?” John asked Ben pointedly, still holding the gun.

Ben turned to Valerie.

“No one _finds_ Jacob, John,” she said. “He’s not in a particular place unless he wants to be.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“It means you have to have faith,” Ben replied.

Locke glared at him, annoyed at the way his own words had been thrown back at him.

“Trust Hugo,” Ben told him.

“ _I_ don’t even trust me, dude.”

“You should,” Valerie told him with a smile.

“Hurley, man, come back with us,” Sawyer pleaded.

“I think I have to do this, dude. We’ll find you at the beach. But I think we gotta go the other way.”

Locke glanced up, surprised that Hugo had some sense of direction. “Let’s go then,” he said urgently, motioning at Hurley to start walking.

“John,” Ben called after him, “if the worst happens—find my people. They need a leader. I have a feeling that it ought to be you.”

John looked startled—but the idea seemed to please him. “I’ll do my best,” he answered over his shoulder.

Valerie turned to the rest of the group as Locke and Hurley disappeared into the jungle. “Alex is probably still with her mother. James, Miles—her camp is more or less in the direction of the beach. We can stick together if you want—but those guys are going to be looking for him.” She tilted her head in Ben’s direction.

“Live together, die alone, as the doc would say,” Sawyer replied.

“What does that mean?” Miles asked.

“It means we’ll stick together.” Sawyer explained. “Who _is_ this guy, Wednesday?” he asked, pointing a thumb at Miles.

“He’s from the freighter.”

“I know, but—what’s his deal?”

“I’m right here, man.”

“James Ford, meet Miles Straume” Valerie replied. “James goes by Sawyer—he’s got a thing about nicknames. I think you two will get along. You’re both sort of scammy.”

“Hey now,” Sawyer objected.

“Miles, James is a professional con artist,” she explained, ignoring his protests. “James, Miles talks to dead people. That’s not a scam, but he does use it to scam people every once in a while.”

“Charming,” Sawyer replied.

“How do you even know that?” Miles asked plaintively.

“Ben does his homework,” she answered.

She could see Ben smirking out of the corner of her eyes. “Indeed I do,” he added distractedly, scanning the trees around them for signs of Widmore’s men. “We’d better get going,” he said, and began to walk.

The time seemed to pass very slowly as they trudged in the direction of Rousseau’s camp. The threat of the mercenaries—and the smoke monster—loomed heavily on their minds. Ben led the way—silently for the most part.

“I feel like I’ve spent the last few days just running laps of this place,” Valerie noted, adjusting the backpack over her uninjured shoulder.

“You and me both,” Miles agreed. “Have you considered cable cars?” he asked Ben. “Or a trolley?”

“Do you remember the cloud of smoke that tore through the mercenaries back there?” Ben replied.

Miles nodded emphatically. “Yeah, I’d say that’s permanently etched into my mind.”

“Not sure it would be too fond of cable cars.”

“I take your point.”

They continued walking until it grew dark, and continued walking well into the night. Ben seemed to have a destination in mind, but Valerie was too exhausted to keep track of where they were.

“Are we there yet?” she asked plaintively.

“Nearly,” he replied.

A few minutes later, they emerged into a clearing. Valerie blinked a few times, getting her bearings.

They were at Pearl Station.

“Give me a hand with this, James,” Ben instructed, and Sawyer helped him to open the hatch.

They climbed in one by one, and Valerie turned on the light.

Ben flicked on the console.

“What is this place?” Sawyer asked, amazed, as the wall of television screens flickered to life.

Ben scanned the screens, looking for activity—but found nothing. He turned back to Sawyer.

“This place, James, is for keeping an eye on things,” he replied heavily. He took a seat on the floor and leaned his head back against the wall.

Val took a seat next to Ben, resting her head on his shoulder.

“Night, night, princess,” Sawyer cooed sarcastically.

Valerie flipped her middle finger at him.

“She’s had a long few days,” Ben said defensively, resting his hand on her knee.

“I’m just surprised she’s relaxed enough to sleep,” Sawyer replied.

“They’ll have no reason to look for us here,” she said, yawning.

Sawyer and Miles sat in the chairs that faced the wall of screens. Sawyer watched the screens pensively for a few moments before turning the console off.

“The one thing I don’t get,” Sawyer asked, looking over at Miles, “is how you knew the guy’s gun would be jammed. How’d you do it?”

“It wasn’t jammed,” Miles explained. “It wasn’t loaded.”

He pulled his own gun out and showed it to Sawyer. “We were all issued the same sidearms. I emptied mine, and we switched them out right before he sent me out with the walkie.”

“That was risky,” Ben noted.

“That’s what I told her.”

“Well, it worked,” she mumbled drowsily, her eyes half shut.

“For now,” Sawyer replied, “but they’re still trying to find Glasses.” He eyed Ben for a moment. “What happens if they get him? Hypothetically, of course.”

“There’s a station on the Island that will flood the entire place with a nerve agent,” Ben explained clinically. "We know their orders are to find me and kill everyone else. We have a spy on the freighter—your friend Michael decided to help us out. He felt a bit guilty about leaving you all here.”

Sawyer whistled in surprise.

“We believe their plan would be to release the toxic gas.”

“Jesus, who did you piss off?”

“A very selfish man named Charles Widmore,” he answered solemnly.

When Valerie woke the next morning, she was sore in more ways than she’d imagined possible. Her shoulder was screaming, her neck was stiff—she had blisters on her feet and her knees felt like they’d aged thirty years.

“Fuck,” she announced, slowly pulling her head from Ben’s shoulder.

“Good morning to you too,” he replied.

“Did you sleep at all?”

“No,” he answered simply.

She nodded—she’d expected as much. Sawyer and Miles had fallen asleep in the chairs—Miles was hunched over the console and Sawyer was leaning over the back of his chair.

“Rise and shine!” she shouted, and they both jumped out of their seats.

“Christ!” Sawyer exclaimed.

“Morning,” she greeted, with sarcastic cheerfulness. “We have to wash up and move out—no time to lose.”

They were back on their way before dawn broke.

“They’ve passed this way,” Ben noted with concern as they made their way into the forest. “These footprints can’t be more than a couple of hours old.”

“Do you think they know where we’re headed?” Valerie asked, frowning.

“I don’t know,” Ben murmured, “but we’d better hurry.”

They picked up the pace, trotting through the trees as quickly as they could.

When they reached Danielle’s camp, they found it deserted.

Ben’s face fell immediately. “Alex?” he shouted. “Alex?”

Danielle emerged, pointing a rifle at them.

“Ta fille, Danielle,” Valerie called out, “est-elle içi?”

Alex came rushing out of the woods, trailed closely by Karl.

“Dad? Val?”

She rushed into Ben’s open arms.

“I’m so glad you found us, what has hap—”

She was interrupted by the sound of a gun firing. A bullet whizzed past them, blasting into a tree trunk.

“Shit!” Sawyer announced. “They found us—run!”

Valerie immediately dropped her backpack and leapt up into the nearest tree, scrambling up to a branch she could stand on. “Rifle!” she directed. Ben tossed his rifle up at her and she snatched it out of the air. 

Danielle started firing back into the woods and Ben ducked behind the tree. Sawyer grabbed Alex and Karl and ran with Miles for cover, firing his pistol over his shoulder.

Valerie had a better vantage from the tree. She picked the mercenaries off with merciless efficiency as they approached.

Sawyer darted back to them, gun drawn, taking cover next to Ben.

The gunfire grew closer and closer. From the amount of noise, it was clear that there were too many mercenaries for them to handle alone.

“Don’t shoot,” he shouted as the men stepped into the clearing. He stepped out from behind the tree holding his hands in the air. “Don’t shoot,” he repeated. “My name is Benjamin Linus—I believe you’re looking for me.”

They lowered their weapons.

“Dad, what are you doing?” Alex screamed from the bushes, her voice quickly muffled by Karl's hand over her mouth.

Valerie understood the calculation he had made. He knew the risks—he wouldn’t bet Alex’s safety on their odds in this firefight. He was banking on playing them against each other later. It might work—but she didn’t want to let him find out.

She eyed the approaching mercenaries. There were eight of them left—but they hadn't seemed to realize there were shots coming from the trees, so she had the element of surprise.

Their leader took a few steps towards Ben. “We’re supposed to take you alive.”

“I need assurances you will let—”

Before Ben could finish his sentence, Valerie dropped out of the tree, landing between him and the men.

In a single swift motion, she handed the rifle back to a gaping Ben, drew the handgun from her waistband, and turned back towards the mercenaries.

She fired decisively, dropping three of them before they could realize what was happening.

A fourth lunged at her—she side stepped his attack, and he grabbed at her—pulling her into a choke hold. She passed the gun to her left hand and—biting her lip through the pain—raised it up, firing it into the man’s chin.

She pulled the long dagger from the man’s belt as he fell to ground and rushed back to Ben, passing it to him before pulling him back behind the tree.

“What the _fuck_ was that?” Sawyer asked, wide-eyed.

“Not now, James,” she hissed back at him, clutching at her bandage.

The gunshot was still ringing in her ears, but she could make out the crunching of footsteps approaching from either side of the tree.

Ben lunged up and stabbed one of the men in the side of the neck. Val shot the other in the chest, firing her last bullet.

They heard more gunfire, and the grunt of a man falling.

“Dad?” Alex screamed.

“Fuck—Alex! Come back!” Karl shouted after her.

Val shared a glance with Ben. They both jumped up and ran out to the clearing. Ben handed the knife to Val as he pulled the baton from his pocket.

The last remaining man had his gun aimed at Alex’s head. 

“Come with me,” he instructed, his voice shaky. “Come with me or she dies.”


	19. An Overwhelming Question

**Chapter 19: An Overwhelming Question**

Ben swallowed. The mercenary had his weapon aimed threateningly at Alex’s forehead. She stood in front of the man, frozen and terrified, her slingshot aiming back at him.

This wasn’t right—he thought they’d already avoided this fate. He glanced at Valerie. She frowned, shaking her head. She couldn’t get close enough with the knife. This man was nervous—not in control of himself the way that Martin Keamy had been—and he was more dangerous as a result.

Ben collapsed the baton and put it back in his pocket. “Don’t touch her,” he said carefully, his hands in the air.

“Tell the crazy bitch to put the knife down.”

“Val,” Ben said, turning to her. “Please—do it.”

She tossed the knife to the ground.

Ben took a couple of steps towards Alex. “Let her go.”

The blast of a gun reverberated through the clearing. Ben’s heart jumped out of his chest.

The mercenary collapsed to the ground, a bullet hole in his temple.

Danielle emerged from behind the brush, rifle in hand, and rushed over to the trembling Alex.

Valerie darted around the bodies, checking to make sure there weren’t any survivors. “We’re good,” she called back to the woods. Sawyer, Miles and Karl joined them in the clearing.

“You can’t bring a slingshot to a gunfight, kid,” Sawyer chided Alex gently.

“I thought they killed my dad,” she explained, stubbornly wiping away tears.

“I’m pretty sure Tomb Raider here wasn’t going to let that happen,” he said, patting Valerie on the back as Ben pulled Alex into a hug,

She smiled gratefully at Valerie over his shoulder.

“Don’t do that again, Alex,” Ben scolded. “I think I nearly had a heart attack.” He kissed the top of her head.

Danielle frowned skeptically at him.

“Thank you,” he told her. “For taking the shot.”

She nodded curtly.

“Dad,” Alex asked urgently, “where do we go now?”

Ben and Valerie looked at each other.

“I have to move it, don’t I?” he asked her.

She nodded. “It’s the only way.”

“They’re not going to stop coming for me,” he explained to Alex. “I have to leave.”

“What?” Alex demanded. “Can’t I come with you?”

He shook his head. “No, Alex—it won’t be safe. Believe me, the last thing I want to do is abandon you. I have to stop Widmore—there’s no other option. But I’ll be back. I promise you—I’ll be back.”

“You can’t just leave me!” she replied desperately.

“Stay with your mother, Alex,” he instructed. “She won’t let anything happen to you. I will be back as soon as I can.”

Alex glanced back at Danielle.

“I’ll take care of her,” Danielle told Ben. “Go. Do what you must.”

“What about Valerie?” Alex asked plaintively.

“I have to go with him,” Valerie answered.

“And that the hell are _we_ supposed to do, Wednesday?” Sawyer demanded.

“I think I preferred Tomb Raider.”

He rolled his eyes.

“There’s a helicopter, isn’t there?” she suggested, looking at Ben questioningly.

“If you can find the pilot, it’s all yours,” he agreed.

“That’s it? We can just _leave_?”

“Sure, James,” he replied, “if that’s what you want. The bearing is 305 degrees at the moment.”

Sawyer looked at Valerie.

She shrugged. “Just be careful.”

“Alright,” he agreed solemnly, uncharacteristically devoid of snark.

Ben hugged Alex one last time. “Stay out of trouble,” he warned. “I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you too, dad.”

“Don’t let her do anything reckless,” he told Karl.

“I don’t make promises I can’t keep, Mr. Linus.”

Ben glared at him.

“I’ll try my best,” he offered, taking Alex by the hand.

Ben nodded at the pair of them, feeling a swell of emotion. She was safe—for now. They’d done what they could.

“Ben, we have to go,” Valerie reminded him.

With a last goodbye, they trudged off into the jungle, making their way to the Orchid with as much speed as they could muster.

There were a number of questions on his mind. He knew from personal experience that Val could put up a fight—and it had been less than a day since he’d watched her stab Martin Keamy in the jugular—but it was another thing entirely to do what she had done. He wondered how she’d gained such a skillset—and why—but he was too exhausted to ask.

It wasn’t long before they arrived at the station. Ben half expected them to be met by more of Widmore’s soldiers—but between the smoke and Valerie, the mercenaries were outnumbered and leaderless.

Valerie led them decisively into the greenhouse.

“Are you sure this is the only way?” he asked her plaintively as they pushed back the anthuriums that hung over the entrance to the elevator.

She nodded at him sadly. “It is,” she confirmed. She paused for a moment before continuing, her brows creased into a thoughtful frown. “There’s a chance I could do it alone, I guess, but it’s risky—I don’t know _everything_.”

She reached out to open the door to the elevator and winced, grabbing at the bandage on her shoulder.

“I won’t let you do that.”

“No?” she asked, an eyebrow raised, holding the elevator door open for him.

He looked her in the eyes as they descended. It was something he had to do himself—and it was not something he was willing to take risks with. “My daughter is alive because of you,” he said instead. “I know what you sacrificed to do this.”

She attempted a smile.

“Let’s sew your shoulder up,” he suggested, changing the subject. “There are supplies here.”

“We don’t have time.”

“I’m not going to be responsible for you dying of an infection—and if we wait any longer it will be too late for stitches. It won’t take more than an hour.”

She looked at him gratefully and nodded. “Fine.”

She dropped her backpack as they entered the laboratory. “It looks so different,” she noted distractedly.

Ben looked through the cabinets until he found cleaning supplies. He moved a rabbit cage from a steel table to the floor, then sprayed the table down with bleach.

Val helped him wipe it down and hopped on to it as he searched for the first aid kit.

She ripped the bandages off.

He aimed a desk lamp at her shoulder and looked at it closely.

She pulled down the strap of her tank top. “Antiseptic pad?” she requested. He handed one to her and she tore the package open with her teeth, the sharp smell filling the air.

He scrubbed his hands down and found a pre-threaded hooked needle. He watched as she cleaned both sides of the wound, gritting her teeth through the pain.

“This is going to hurt,” he warned.

“It already hurts,” she snapped. “Just hurry up.”

He started with the exit would on her collarbone, pushing the needle into her skin.

She bit her lip and grabbed at him, clutching the hem of his shirt.

He frowned at her, concerned.

“Keep going,” she growled through clenched teeth. “It doesn’t have to be pretty.”

He finished with the front as quickly as he could, and neatly tied off the thread before moving to the hole in her back. The entry wound was smaller and easier to work with than the exit wound on her chest. He was finished with it in minutes.

He pressed fresh bandage pads over each set of stitches.

“All set,” he said gently, meeting her eyes again.

“Thanks,” she said simply, sliding off the table. She looked around the lab.

“How do we even get to it? Where’s the door?”

He frowned at her. “There’s no door,” he said cryptically, and started tossing every loose piece of metal into the vault.

“What are you doing?”

“Anything metal you can find—throw it in there.”

She didn’t question his instructions, joining him in piling every piece of heavy lab equipment into the room.

“That should do it,” he announced as a wrench clattered down through the pile.

He sealed the doors shut and moved over to the control panel.

A deep, distant noise shook the room.

“What did you do?” she asked.

“Nothing yet—that wasn’t me.”

She frowned at him. “Oh—fuck.”

“What?”

“The freighter—they just blew up the freighter.

“Oh.” He blinked. “I suppose Charles was never going to let that thing leave unless it was on his terms.”

Valerie nodded absently. She frowned to herself, calculating something in her head. She looked up and realized he was waiting for the go ahead. “Do it—we have to hurry.”

Wordlessly, he flicked a series of switches on the control panel.

He grabbed Valerie by the waist and pulled her away.

“What does that—”

The vault buzzed and rattled wildly, violently blowing a hole into the wall behind it.

“ _That_ would be why the room looks different,” she noted dryly.

Ben grabbed a pair of parkas from the closet and tossed one to Valerie. She put it on and grabbed her backpack.

“Ladies first,” he said, gesturing at the rubble.

She crawled through the hole in the wall and followed the path that had opened up, descending down the rickety ladder.

Ben followed her. They pushed through the ice that had sealed the entrance to the wheel chamber and stepped through it.

“Are you certain we can do this together?”

She made a face. “That depends on how you define ‘certain,’ I guess. I’m _pretty_ sure”

“Very reassuring,” he noted sarcastically.

She exhaled decisively, her breath visible in the cold. She stepped over to the wheel and grabbed a spoke. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” he sighed, “against my better judgment, I suppose I do.” He stood next to her, placing his hands on the spoke.

They thrust the spoke forward, and he looked over at her. She was focused—her brow furrowed in concentration. She glanced over at him and saw that he was watching her. She said nothing, steadily holding his gaze as they took labored steps forward, pushing the heavy, iced-in wheel on its axis.

As the light began to glow, his mind flashed to the brief moment of despair he’d felt before he’d realized that Keamy’s gun hadn’t been loaded—then to the taste of blood on her lips.

Ice fell away as the wheel turned, shattering on the ground. The glow grew brighter and brighter until it was blinding. With a final push, they reached the wall and were swallowed by the light.

***

Valerie’s walk to the water was long, and difficult in the dark. When she arrived, she saw that he’d started a fire, halfway down the beach. She took her sandals off and walked towards him slowly. The sand was cold between her toes. She wasn’t as nervous as she thought she would be. It was just Ben, after all.

He noticed her almost immediately, but he didn’t really react. He looked over in her direction, confirmed to himself that it was her, then he turned back to the black waves. When she reached him, he shifted over to make room for her next to him.

She sat down. Neither of them spoke for quite a while.

The ocean was easy to get lost in, especially at this hour. The moonlight was refracted across the surface of the water—and the endless expanse of it was only amplified by the way that it seemed to merge seamlessly with the sky.

“I almost robbed that boy of his mother,” Ben said eventually. His voice was quiet, and he spoke slowly. “And of all people, I should know what kind of loss that is.” He pushed some sand around with his hand. “He has no idea. Perhaps he never will.”

She could fill in the blanks. Charlie was just an innocent child—he hadn’t become collateral damage in Ben’s quest for vengeance, but it had been a close call. There were many others who hadn’t been so lucky. And Charlie, knowing none of this, had sought him out. Granted, Charlie was just ten—and trusting in the way that only children can be. But for Ben, that simple act of trust had skewered him.

Valerie lightly patted his knee. “Penny forgives you.”

“How can you say that.”

“She told me.”

“She did not.”

“Not in so many words. But she does.”

“What brings you down here?” He asked in response.

She hesitated. She’d been so lost in the ocean that she’d almost forgotten why she had decided to follow him. But even though he’d asked her point blank, she couldn’t bring herself to tell him. “You said that I could stay until my boat was fixed,” she began, “and Desmond is here now. It’ll be fixed soon.”

“But?”

“But—I really don’t want to leave. I was hoping it would be okay if I stayed.”

He scoffed. “Did I really say that?”

“When I first got here.”

“That was before…” he trailed off. “You don’t _have_ to leave, Val—of course you don’t have to leave.”

“Oh. Good.”

“Is that really all?”

“No—sort of. I guess I’ve just been thinking a lot about what Hurley said—that the Island brings people here for a reason. And there have been times when I’m sure I’ve figured out why I’m here, but then other times I’m not so sure.”

He didn’t react to that.

“Ben,” she murmured, “why do you think I’m here?”

He looked at her sharply.

He’d thought about it since the last time she’d asked, of course, but had no answers—at least none that he felt he could tell her. “To be honest, I still don’t know,” he said instead. It was true. He was far from certain. She seemed disappointed.

He looked at her, her face lit up so perfectly by the fire and the moonlight. Her hair moved a little with the breeze. Valerie was a beautiful woman. He’d known, of course—but it had taken him a while to really _see_ it.

He’d never met anyone quite like her—who could quote poetry at him with one breath and spout off vulgarities with the next—someone who could make him laugh, even when he didn’t want to be laughing.

He was fond of her—perhaps more than that. And she had chosen to walk to the beach—to sit alone with him—in the middle of the night.

“Whatever the reason, I suppose I’m glad you are here,” he said, so quiet that it was almost under his breath.

She didn’t say anything, but she leaned against his shoulder, and the contact made him too tense to move. He stayed very still—gradually relaxing into the weight of her body against his.

He wondered suddenly how she might react if he kissed her. The thought surprised him—that his mind would conjure something so bold out of such a quiet moment. He swallowed anxiously and said nothing.

The silence was strangely comfortable. They sat together—nearly motionless—so long that the fire burned down to embers, and the sky, though still very much night, was beginning to show hints of day.

Eventually, he broke the silence. “Shall we head back?” he suggested.

“I guess we should.”

She took a deep breath and stretched her arms. He stood up first and offered her his hand. She took it gratefully, squeezing it as she rose to her feet. He let go, and gently touched her back as she started walking.

The path back to the Barracks was narrow. They walked close together in the dark, and her hand bumped and brushed clumsily against his. Eventually she caught his palm in hers and held it—loosely. It was a question. He felt the breath leave his chest, and he answered her by tightening his grip.

He could feel her pulse—pounding, like his. He ran his thumb across her knuckles, and she walked a little closer to him.

He could barely breathe.

Their hands eventually fell apart as they reached the Barracks. It was still dark out, but the first rays of sunlight were beginning to turn the night sky blue.

They found themselves stopped in front of the steps to his house. He took a moment to look at her. She met his gaze, her eyes heavy and serious. He knew there would be no going back from whatever happened next. He took a breath.

“Would you like to come in?”

She let her eyes wander over him, then she nodded slowly. A sudden influx of nerves sent the air out of his lungs again. He opened the door with shaky hands, and he held it for her as she stepped inside. She slipped her sandals off and started wandering towards the back of the house—towards his bedroom. He swallowed.

He stood by the door, watching her. She paused, resting the back of her head against the wall of the narrow hallway. She stared at him as he followed her into the house, a burning intensity in her eyes. He leaned against the wall across from her, still hesitant to get too close.

He watched her chest rise and fall. He felt the desire rushing in—a slow-rolling wave that gradually drowned him. The air was almost too thick to breathe.

The tension had built to the point that the silence roared in his ears. He stepped across the hall, closing the distance between them in a single sudden moment. He leaned against her, his palms pressed against the wall. He glanced down at her mouth. Her wavering breath was soft and warm against his lips.

She grabbed the collar of his shirt, pulling him into a feverish kiss.

The sudden contact sent an electric current ripping through him. She clung to him as he kissed her back, rushed and desperate. He had never felt so aware of his own flesh.

She reached down, her hands unsteady, unbuckling, unbuttoning, unzipping—urgently removing the barriers between them.

His body was screaming at her touch. He felt her reaching for him, her hands on him. He tasted her mouth. He felt her skin—ran a nervous palm up the length of her thigh. His other hand clutched at the nape of her neck—trembling fingers in her hair. He wanted her—badly. Immediately. 

He took her right there, in the hallway, lifting her up by the hips, his body pressed into hers.

She leaned into him, gripping his shoulders, gasping with every move he made.

The intensity of the sensations overwhelmed him. He felt the rush of heat rising up, a crackling tension building into an undulation that grew increasingly palpable until it could no longer be contained.

He found himself resting his forehead against the wall, breathing heavily and unable to think. He had never experienced anything quite like this before. He glanced down at her face.

She met his gaze and kissed him again—slowly—until his back was against the wall and her chest was flush against his. He wanted to pick her up and carry her to his bedroom—to undress her and lie with her naked and make up for all of the years that no one had wanted him.

But when she pulled away from the kiss, she smiled slyly, fixed her dress, picked her sweater up off the floor and made her way to the door.

“Where are you going?”

“Home—it’s almost morning.” She bit her lip and grinned at him. “I’ll see you later.”

“Later,” he agreed breathlessly, and watched as she slipped outside.


	20. No Way Out but Through

**Chapter 20: No Way Out but Through**

Ben awoke with a gasp, flat on his back in the desert. He had a flash of déjà-vu and, for a moment, was surprised to see Valerie lying next to him.

“I fucking hate doing that,” she groaned.

“Are you alright?”

“Probably.” She rolled over and vomited. “It was worse last time.”

He stood up and pulled the parka off, then doubled over to vomit into the sand. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“There you go,” she muttered, semi-encouragingly.

Ben could hear hoofbeats. Two Bedouin riders were approaching from a distance.

“We’ve got visitors,” he informed Valerie.

She pulled herself up and threw off her own coat. “Do you want to start with diplomacy, or should we just apologize after the fact?” she asked, squinting at him.

“I’ll try to talk to them,” he suggested.

She raised an eyebrow.

“They’ll get closer to us if they’re trying to hear me,” he explained, and she tilted her head in tacit agreement.

She stood close behind him as they approached.

He glanced over his shoulder at her. The thin straps of her tank top left her bandages readily visible. He reached into his pocket and slid the wedding band back onto his finger.

“Help,” he asked, waving them down. They were both well-armed, and they seemed suspicious.

“English?” he asked.

The men spoke quickly to each other in Arabic. Ben could follow some of it, but their regional accent made it a bit difficult. From what he gathered, they were confused at how he and Valerie had arrived without leaving any tracks in the sand.

“I can explain,” he offered. He tried again in Arabic.

“Parlez-vous Français, mes amis?” Valerie asked.

The men didn’t respond.

“Please—my wife needs help,” he cried out, quickly falling back into their old lie. He gestured at the wound under Valerie’s collarbone. “She needs a doctor. Doctor!”

Both men dismounted, approaching the pair. Ben kept his hands in the air as one of the men patted him down. The other man leered at Valerie’s chest, but he didn’t touch her.

Ben felt the man find the baton in his pocket. He pulled it out of Ben’s pants and showed it to his partner, unsure of what it was.

Ben smiled innocently at the man. He glanced over his shoulder locked eyes with Val for a moment. She nodded almost imperceptibly.

He snatched the baton from the man’s hand and extended it, immediately landing a blow to his would-be captor’s head. The man crumpled to the ground, unconscious. He turned to help Valerie.

Her man was on his back. She’d already slung his weapon over her shoulder.

Ben tried to hide how startled he was.

“What?”

“One of these days, you’re going to explain to me why you’re so good at that.”

“You taught me,” she answered. “Obviously.”

“I’m not _that_ good,” he noted.

“Not _yet_ ,” she replied. “We had a lot of time to practice. And we needed to make sure we could protect the Island, if it ever came to that.”

“And did it?”

“A couple of times. Nothing the two of us couldn’t handle.”

He shot her a skeptical look.

“You were in pretty good shape, for an old man,” she teased.

Ben made a face at her, and she snickered.

The Bedouins’ horses had not wandered very far. He wrangled them while Valerie gathered anything useful from the unconscious men.

“We should leave their water,” she suggested frowning at them. She’d propped them up against a rock, safely in the shade.

“I suppose we should,” he agreed. “Are you ready?” he asked, holding out the reins.

She nodded—then stopped herself, holding up an index finger. She vomited again into the sand.

“I think that’s the last of it,” she announced, grabbing the reins from him and pulling herself up into the saddle.

It was hours later that Ben noticed how much she was disfavoring her left shoulder—letting it hang limp as her right arm did all the work.

“Does it hurt?”

“You’re going to have to be more specific.”

He rolled his eyes.

“Your fresh bullet wound, Valerie. Does it hurt?”

She looked over at him. “It’ll heal.”

“You can tell me if you’re in pain,” he insisted. “You don’t have to be tough.”

“Oh, well, if you insist,” she replied sarcastically—then let out a long, expletive-laden explanation of precisely how it felt and just how unpleasant that was.

He regretted asking.

Their journey from the exit point to Tozeur was long—and while it was not particularly enjoyable, it was—mercifully—uneventful.

They arrived in the early evening. Valerie led the way through the city. He watched her move with confidence through the narrow streets. She was tired—they both were—but her spirits seemed lifted by the bustle around them.

She took them on a quick detour through a market and bought a keffiyeh to wrap around her neck, covering her wound.

“I’d rather not have to answer questions,” she explained. 

They stepped out of the warm night and into the cool lobby of the hotel

Valerie recognized the receptionist on duty and ran up to talk to her. The woman remembered her well—they spoke French with each other, much too quickly for him to understand the conversation.

“Il est _Monsieur_ Moriarty?” the receptionist asked Valerie, eyeing Ben with a curious smile.

“Oui, le même—yes,” Valerie replied, switching to English for his benefit.

“You have a very agreeable wife, Monsieur—very sympathetic. Generous to the staff.”

He flashed Valerie a bemused grin.

“She is certainly one of a kind,” he agreed.

“They’ll just need a moment to get our suite ready,” Valerie told him.

“Thank you,” he told the receptionist, and she hurried off.

They sat together in the lobby, silently watching people and enjoying the cool air.

His eyes wandered back to Valerie. He’d caught himself looking at her more and more lately. She’d picked up a tan in the Saharan sun—she had a bit of a burn on her shoulders and across her back. There was a fresh smattering of freckles across her shoulders and chest—and along the bridge of her nose, though she’d gotten a bit of sunburn there as well.

She noticed him staring at her and her lips creased into a slight smile.

Valerie was always so deliberate in her expressions—a slightly furrowed brow, a mischievous look in her big eyes—all of it could communicate volumes. She was gorgeous, he’d come to realize, but it was that expressiveness that he found beautiful.

Her liveliness seemed muted here. It took him a moment to realize why—the last time she had been here, she’d been in an acute state of grief. Returning to this place had surely brought some of that pain back to the surface.

He smiled back at her.

It wasn’t long before the receptionist signaled them that the room was ready. She handed Valerie two sets of keys, and Valerie thanked her warmly.

An old-fashioned elevator took them to their floor. Valerie unlocked the door and flicked on the light as she walked into the room. He followed her in, quietly latching the door behind him. The suite was large, with a dining area and sitting room. The lamps were a bit dim, giving the room a firelit glow in the dark.

She switched on the TV and found the BBC. She sat on the foot of the bed and watched for a few minutes as Ben organized their things and showered.

“We lost a few months,” she informed him when he emerged from the bathroom fully dressed in the fresh clothes Val had packed. “Almost a year.”

He nodded. “That’s usually how it goes.”

“The Oceanic Six made it off the Island,” she noted, gesturing at the TV.

“The what?”

“That’s what they’re calling the six of them on the helicopter—Jack, Hurley, Kate, Sayid, and Sun.”

“That’s five.”

“And Claire’s baby,” she added.

“The baby counts, Val.”

“I guess.”

He sat next to her. They watched the news for a while, catching up on what had happened in the time they’d missed.

“You lived through all of this already, I take it,” he noted with a slight frown.

“Yeah—I remember watching the Oceanic Six story. I was in college.”

He raised an eyebrow and stopped himself from saying something.

“When we met, I was almost thirty. You were forty-nine. It wasn’t—honestly, it hardly seemed important.” She smiled slyly. “In case that’s what you were wondering.”

He stifled a smile.

“The Oceanic Six—they were the same six people?” he asked, changing the subject.

“Yeah,” she confirmed.

“So even though you affected so many things—this still happened the same way?”

“I guess so. I guess a lot of things ended up the same—a lot of the same people died—Boone, Shannon, Libby, Charlie—Goodwin and that woman who was with him. The freighter blowing up.”

Ben frowned deeply. “Alex should have died,” he noted.

“But she didn’t. And neither did Karl, or Danielle, or Ethan. We don’t really know how it works—the Island may course correct, but it might not. I mean, everyone dies eventually. She’s alive now. You didn’t choose to let her die. That _matters_.”

A familiar face splashed across the TV, interrupting their conversation. “Is that Sayid?” Valerie asked, standing up to get a closer look.

Ben waited for the text to appear on the screen. “It would seem so. Someone murdered his wife.”

“Widmore, right?”

“That would be my guess. Wouldn’t _you_ know?”

“You didn’t like talking about this time very much—after Alex…” she trailed off.

Ben was quiet for a moment as he read the chyron. “Sayid might be useful—motivated. How would you feel about a trip to Tikrit for her funeral?”

“I know what you’re thinking.”

“Of course you do.”

“You don’t need him.”

“Oh?”

“You need someone to help you dismantle Charles’s network—cut him off from the resources he needs to find the Island again. Don’t drag that man into this. He’s been through enough.”

“You’re proposing yourself?

“How hard do you think it would be for me to get close enough to a man to slip something in his drink? Or stick him with a needle?”

“You’re in no shape to—”

“It will heal.”

“Valerie, you’re a fighter, but you’re not a killer.”

She squinted at him. “You do remember Keamy, don’t you? And the rest of the mercenaries?”

“I know what you are capable of, Val. I mean that it’s not who you _are_ ,” he clarified. “You are not a killer.”

“Neither is he,” she replied, pointing at the TV. “Neither are _you_ ,” she added, with conviction. “We do what we have to do.”

He frowned at her. He didn’t know how she could believe _he_ wasn’t, knowing all the things she knew he’d done—all the death he’d caused. Part of him wanted to argue—convince her that she was wrong about him and that she was being foolish in suggesting she could kill the way that a soldier like Sayid could. But now was not the time.

“We’ll discuss this later, Val,” he said instead. “How’s your shoulder?”

She glared at him. She knew he was deflecting.

“You can have a look,” she conceded, taking a seat on the ottoman as she peeled the bandage pads off.

He reached into his bag and dug around for the first aid materials he’d collected in the Orchid.

He pulled his glasses out of his pocket and dragged a lamp over to the ottoman. He put the glasses on and knelt beside her to get a better look at her stitches.

He started with the back. The area was very red and a bit swollen—a touch of infection, probably made more painful by her sunburn. It did appear to be healing, but it would fare better if cleaned and bandaged.

He tore open an antiseptic pad.

“This is going to hurt a bit,” he warned.

She gave him a look.

“Alright,” he replied.

She hissed a bit as he pressed it against her skin. He resisted the urge to comment.

He worked as quickly as he could; his brows furrowed as he squinted through his glasses.

She watched him.

When he was finished applying the bandage, he looked up and noticed the wistful way she was staring at him. He was suddenly very aware of their proximity. He felt his heart beating in his chest.

“There,” he said softly.

She bit her bottom lip and sighed.

His eyes were drawn back to her face—sunburnt and beautiful with that heartbroken look in her eyes. He knew what she was thinking about.

“Val,” he asked carefully, “who are you seeing right now—me or him?”

She met his gaze, the depth of her pain suddenly very clear to him. “I don’t know,” she murmured, shaking her head. “Is there really a difference?”

He thought about it for a moment. It wasn’t as though he only shared a couple of memories with the man she knew—he had lived the same life for forty years. “I don’t know either,” he replied slowly, helping her to her feet.

“I loved him,” she said simply.

He nodded. “I know.”

“I—” she stopped herself.

She would tell him that she loved him too, he realized, if she were certain it was true.

“You should get some rest,” he suggested, and pulled back the sheets.

She looked at him gratefully and eased into the bed.

He turned the lights and the TV off, took off his shoes and slipped in beside her.

The room was quiet, save for the steady whirr of the ceiling fan.

She rolled onto her side and draped her arm over his chest, her head over his heart.

She’d held him like this once before—in their tent on the beach, long before he’d understood why she was so good at pretending to love him.

This time she’d done it intentionally—and this time he didn’t want to pull away. He found her embrace comforting in a way he hadn’t expected. He wrapped his arm around her—tenderly.

He craned his neck to meet her gaze. 

“Ben,” she breathed.

There was something profoundly unsettling in the way she said his name—with complete trust and genuine affection.

“Go to sleep, Val,” he whispered. 

She pulled herself closer to him and closed her eyes.

He cared about her—more than he’d realized he could.

He couldn’t let himself be distracted by whatever it was that he felt for her. As wonderful as it had been, it had been a mistake to kiss her. He had let impulse drive his actions, and he wasn’t even certain that the impulse had truly been his own.

But he couldn’t ignore how he felt either—not with her always so close. And it didn’t help that he knew just how the curves of her slender body felt in his hands. 

It had just been a dream—but it haunted his thoughts almost as persistently as the kiss.

In this life, no one had ever wanted him like that. He’d never felt that kind of thing from another person—never felt that sort of thing from himself. Part of him wanted it—wanted her to make love to him—but he couldn’t presume to ask. And even if she wanted the same thing, he wouldn’t know where to begin.

At the same time, it seemed wrong to even think about sleeping with Valerie. She was still grieving a dead lover. And no matter how much he had in common with the man in that dream, to her they weren’t the same person—not quite.

He absently pressed his lips to the top of her head.

She slept soundly, her chest rising and falling steadily through the night.

He didn’t sleep at all.

***

The moment Valerie had walked out of his house, Ben had become unsure of whether or not any of it had been real. He stumbled back into his room, collapsed backwards onto his bed and stared at the ceiling. His thoughts clattered around in his head, too loud and disjointed for him to make any sense of them.

It might have been an hour or two before he gave up on attempting to sleep and got up to take a shower. He felt tired, but he felt decidedly alive.

The world seemed quite a bit brighter when he stepped out of his door—he squinted at Hugo who walked towards him, the sun at his back.

“Hey man—good morning!”

“It is a good morning, yes.”

“What?”

“It’s a lovely day, Hugo,” Ben replied, a broad smile on his face.

“What has gotten into you?” Hugo asked, chuckling.

“I couldn’t say,” he answered, one eyebrow raised, attempting unsuccessfully to stifle the grin.

Hurley stared at him skeptically for a moment, deciding whether or not to keep prying. He decided against it. “Well, it’s a good day to work on the boat—weather wise. Des and Walt have gone down to the dock.”

“You know, I think Val’s going to stay a while, Hugo,” Ben said quietly.

“I hope so—doesn’t mean that we shouldn’t fix up her boat. We’ve got to let Des and Penny get back to the real world.” He slapped Ben on the shoulder and started walking down towards the dock.

Ben grinned again and followed his friend.

It was noon by the time Valerie finally showed up.

“Val, where the hell have you been?” Walt called out to her.

“No one came to get me! It was a fucking ghost town when I got up.”

“Language, please, both of you,” Penny interjected, tilting her head at Charlie, who was very focused on an increasingly elaborate sandcastle.

Ben glanced at Valerie. She looked particularly radiant.

“Linus,” she greeted him, flashing him a smile.

“Val,” he said.

He made eye contact with Penny for a moment. She smirked but held her tongue.

They spent the day working on the boat. He was yearning to hold her again, but he settled for the brushes of skin as their shoulders bumped together. Part of him felt it would be simpler if they all just _knew_ , but there was something undeniably fun about keeping it a secret—at least for now. Besides, he wasn’t entirely sure what _she_ wanted.

Eons seemed to pass before the group of them finished their dinner and retired for the evening. He hadn’t slept in almost two days now, and he should have been exhausted, but—waiting for the night to finally start—he had never felt so awake.

She touched his arm as she was leaving to head home.

“I’ll see you later,” she murmured, a sly look in her eyes.

He held her gaze for a moment. “Later,” he agreed.

He waited what he felt was a reasonable amount of time before creeping back out of his house and darting across the green to hers. His heart was pounding in anticipation. He found her door left ajar. He stepped into her foyer and locked the door behind him.

“Valerie,” he whispered into the dark hallway. She stepped out of her bedroom.

“Hi,” she said, a mischievous grin on her face.

“I—” he wasn’t sure what to say.

They locked eyes.

Her face grew serious.

Last night he’d been overcome with desire, but this was different. He had a desperate need to touch her, but it wasn’t lust that consumed him.

He hadn’t had the time—or the presence of mind—to really think about the way she must feel. But he could see it now, plain on her face. In his life, no one had ever looked at him the way she was looking at him now.

He had lived a very lonely life. There had always been people around him, but even those closest to him had kept themselves at arm’s length—even Alex had kept her distance once she had grown old enough to see him for what he was.

He had been indifferent to Valerie at first, and—in his apathy—he had never bothered to mask the ugliness he carried with him. And she had never been repulsed. But she was perceptive—she had understood who he was from the beginning. She had seen him in all his complexity—and had somehow seen the shades of something worthwhile.

The more he really considered it, the more he realized how unfathomably lucky he was that she felt the way she did. He hadn’t spent a day apart from her in more than a year. She had cured his loneliness, and he’d hardly noticed it happening. It was far more than he deserved.

He could tell that she knew exactly what he was thinking.

She leapt into his arms and held him as tightly as she could, pressing her face against his neck. He hesitated for a moment before squeezing her back. He kissed the side of her head.

She leaned back and raised her lips to his. He folded into her—dissolving into the warmth of her body. She drew him in closer.

He’d gone his whole life without this—not categorically devoid of it, of course—but nothing that came close to the honest intensity of Valerie’s desire for him—her hungry trembling hands, the fire of her skin, the rapid cadence of her breathing.

She needed him, he realized, in a way that he’d never been needed. There was a newness in that feeling—electric and intoxicating. He felt everything at once as he fell into bed with her—yearning, lust, uncertainty—and, above all, relief.

He was awoken the next morning from a very deep sleep by a pounding on the front door. Groggy and disoriented, he located most of his clothing and dressed himself—his shirt was missing but he’d found his white undershirt, so that was no huge problem.

“Coming,” he shouted down the hall at the door.

He vaguely registered that the shower was running in the background, and he hoped no one would ask any questions.

“Ben?” he heard Hugo’s muffled voice from outside.

He opened the door.

“Yes, Hugo?”

Hurley stared at him, a perplexed frown on his face, waiting for an explanation. “Are you—is everything okay?”

Ben rubbed his eyes. “Is it late?”

“A bit,” Hugo replied, fighting a smile. “We were just wondering where you were—”

Ben looked at him, visibly confused.

“—because you weren’t at home,” Hurley continued.

Ben suddenly became aware of his surroundings, realizing—much too late—that the door he had answered was not his own.

He winced. “Oh. This isn’t—it’s not—it’s not what it looks like,” Ben attempted half-heartedly, noticing his shirt crumpled on the floor of the hallway.

Hugo glanced at the shirt and grinned.

Valerie emerged from the bedroom, wearing nothing but a towel. She noticed their guest and immediately started laughing.

“Hi Hurley,” she said sheepishly.

“Hey Val,” he replied. “Ben says it’s not what it looks like.”

She laughed again. “Oh?”

“That’s what he tells me.”

“And what does it look like, would you say?”

Hugo stifled a grin.

“Definitely not what it looks like,” she agreed sarcastically. She slipped back into the bedroom, holding in a giggle as she closed the door.

“Did you _know_ , Hugo?” Ben asked, incredulous.

“Not exactly—I guess I kind of had an idea though.”

Ben could see Penny walking towards the house from around the corner.

“Oh, you found him,” Penny called out from across the green. She didn’t seem particularly surprised.

He sighed. “Does everyone know?”

“Penny asked me about you two at dinner the other night,” Hugo explained. “I thought, like, no way—but then I thought about it, and—and it was just obvious, you know?”

“We found Ben!” Penny called over her shoulder. Desmond and Walt trotted over. Ben could feel himself blushing. 

“Do we have to make a spectacle of this?”

“We do, I’m afraid,” Desmond answered.

“Jesus Christ, _finally_ ,” Walt announced, rolling his eyes.

“Et tu, Walter?”

“Man, you’ve been in love with her since we pulled her out of the boat. It was obvious. _Painfully_ obvious.”

Ben winced and turned back to Hugo. “Painfully obvious?”

“Well—I mean, I wouldn’t put it like that exactly, but—”

“Thanks Hugo, I get the point.

Valerie emerged from her bedroom, fully dressed. He felt her hand slip into his and he looked down at her. She had that self-satisfied smirk on her face.

“Did you really want to keep sneaking around?” she asked quietly.

He looked down at her face—her big brown eyes meeting his gaze with warmth and a hint of mischief. He shook his head. “I suppose not,” he replied, and he kissed her.


	21. Tender is the Night

**Chapter 21: Tender is the Night**

The next morning, Valerie and Ben packed up and got on a plane to Paris.

He picked the hotel without consulting her—there were a few options to choose from, and he decided that a suite in large luxury hotel would suit their need for anonymity better than a boutique hole in the wall or a hostel.

Valerie took a quick shower as soon as they checked in and changed into the cleanest looking clothes she had—a black tank top and a pair of black jeans. She pilfered a clean button up shirt from his bag and threw it on, rolling up the sleeves.

“Do I look normal?”

He glanced at her. With her long hair pulled into a messy ponytail and his shirt, she looked just like any fashionable young woman out in the city.

“You look fine,” he replied cautiously.

“I can work with ‘fine,’ I _guess_ ,” she huffed, already halfway out the door. “I’ll be back.”

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“I need a few things,” she answered.

“What sort of things?”

“Nice things,” she explained, waving a wad of cash in the air.

She returned to their room a couple of hours later, arms weighed down by several large shopping bags. He did not recognize the brands, but he got the sense that her stack of cash had been made considerably slimmer by her purchases.

“That was efficient,” he commented.

“I knew where I was going—and what I was looking for.” She tossed three of the bags at him. “Those are for you,” she informed him, setting another two bags down on a sitting chair. “Just to get us through the next few days,” she explained. She took the rest of her bags back into the bathroom.

She’d bought him a couple of fresh outfits. He did not really appreciate her choosing his clothes for him, but—as he examined her selections—he realized she’d brought him things she knew he’d like. He was particularly happy to find a new pair of shoes—and fresh socks.

As Valerie tinkered away in the bathroom, Ben passed the time making phone calls and watching the news. Hours had passed since she’d returned—he’d heard her take _another_ shower. He was impatient, and he was growing very hungry.

“Val,” he called through the closed door, “had you given any thought to dinner?”

“I’m almost done—is there a vacuum in the closet?”

“A vacuum?”

She stepped out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel. “I cut my hair.”

At first glance, she was nearly unrecognizable. She’d cut her long wavy hair into a neat bob that fell a couple of inches past her chin. Her hair was shiny and pin straight, parted neatly on one side—and perhaps a couple of shades darker. She’d put a whole face of makeup on, he realized—her skin was even and luminous, her eyelashes seemed even thicker, and her lips were a dark, rich red.

“You cut your hair,” he agreed.

She grinned at him.

“Yourself?” he added, surprised that she’d done such a good job.

“You learn a few things when you live on a remote island,” she explained as she rifled through the shopping bags. “I guess can vacuum later.”

He peeked into the bathroom. The floor was covered in dark hair and the counter was covered in expensive looking jars and vials. She’d been busy.

“As for dinner,” she continued, “we _are_ in Paris—we might as well go somewhere nice.” She fished a black dress out of one of the shopping bags.

He turned around as she started dropping the towel.

“You can look now,” she told him. It was a simple sleeveless dress—knee length with a high neck. It covered her bullet wound well, which he imagined was why she’d chosen it. It was also _very_ form fitting.

She stepped into pair of very tall heels.

He’d never seen Val like this. He was very aware that she was pretty—but on the Island she hadn’t really put much _effort_ into looking pretty. He’d assumed she wasn’t really the type of woman to care much about getting made up and wearing nice clothes. But she certainly knew how—and he found himself a bit tongue tied.

“I suppose—I ought to—I’ll get changed, in that case.”

“Probably a good idea,” she agreed.

She made a reservation somewhere while he was getting changed. The restaurant wasn’t too far away, and Val wanted to walk. In her shoes she was nearly as tall as he was. She didn’t seem uncomfortable slinking around in a tight dress and heels—quite the opposite; she seemed more herself than ever. He couldn’t take his eyes off of her.

At the restaurant, she had a quick conversation in French with the waiter, who seated them in a quiet corner.

He was entranced by the shadow that her eyelashes cast in the warm candlelight.

“So,” she murmured, “let’s talk about Charles Widmore.”

***

Two weeks after that dinner, Canadian honeymooners Roderick and Alanna Cruikshank checked into a hotel in the Seychelles. Two nights after they arrived, Alanna wandered down into the bar and had a long chat with a man named Peter Avellino, who turned up dead the next morning, the victim of an apparent poisoning.

Four months later, Fred and Miranda Clegg arrived in Berlin. Within a week of their arrival, CCTV footage captured a woman with short dark hair appearing to push a blonde woman in front of a moving train at Potsdamer Platz. Neither woman could be identified by the authorities. An older man with an apparent connection to the blonde woman was discovered days later in his hotel room—though his cause of death could not be determined.

There was a man in Krakow who received a fatal injection of some kind while enjoying a private show from a woman that none of the other dancers at the strip club could identify, one in Seattle who collapsed mysteriously at the gym, and another in Cape Town who was shot in the head in his apartment while he ate in front of the TV.

There was a woman who was strangled to death with her own purse strap in Singapore. And finally, there was a man named Ivan who was gunned down in a residential Moscow street—in broad daylight, with no apparent witnesses.

Valerie liked Moscow—she spoke enough Russian to get by, thanks to her mother. She loved the history she could experience just walking around the older parts of the city. The weather appealed to her too—she’d grown up in the cold, and while much of her life had been spent in warm places, she had a soft spot for an icy cold day.

Ivan hadn’t been too much trouble. Word had spread through Widmore’s associates that people were being picked off—and the rumor was that a woman was behind it. Ivan had realized what she was doing the moment she approached him, and he’d just started running.

She’d hit him from about twenty feet away, but she hadn’t killed him. She caught up to him quickly and shot him twice in the back of the head before he could try to plead for his life.

It had only taken Ben a little bit of convincing to agree Valerie was right for the job. She had waited until he was tired—and a bit distracted by her lipstick and stilettos. In that pliable state, she’d been able to talk him into letting her do it. It wasn’t that she was _eager_ to kill Widmore’s people—she had just wanted to keep the grieving, angry Sayid out of it.

The work wasn’t exactly new to her, either. Keamy and the mercenaries hadn’t been the first men that she’d killed in defense of the Island.

She stepped lithely into Ben’s car and twisted the silencer off of her handgun before handing them both to him. She peeled off her gloves and tossed them out the window as he drove away.

“You alright?” he asked, noting how numb she was to the violence that she’d inflicted.

She blinked slowly. “I’m fine,” she assured him. “It’s not my first fucking rodeo, Linus.”

“I know,” he replied. “I just—you know I worry.”

“I know.” She smiled to herself. “Where to now?” she asked.

“There’s a place in the south of France I’d like to take you to,” he said. “It’s lovely this time of year.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Back to France? I thought Ivan was the last one?”

“He was,” Ben confirmed. “There’s no one else. I promised you we’d keep this to a minimum.”

She smirked at him. “So, what—it’s a vacation?”

“I suppose you could look at it that way.”

She was annoyed by his obfuscation, but she knew better than to try to pry more information from him. He was insufferable when he was openly keeping secrets.

They flew from Moscow to Paris and traveled by rail for the last leg of the trip. Valerie remained on edge despite the peaceful rocking of the train.

She watched him as he read. He was distracted—nervous maybe. He glanced at her briefly and quickly turned back to the book. She was certain that he had an ulterior motive, but she couldn’t imagine what he’d want to keep from her.

They had much grown closer, in a sense. They’d used nearly a dozen false identities over the last year. They always traveled a couple, always stayed in the same hotel room, and almost always slept in the same bed—it was the easiest thing to do, and it hid them from Charles, who would be expecting Ben to travel alone.

Their constant proximity did not seem to bother Ben—there was actually something comfortable about the arrangement. He’d grown to depend on her presence; he talked his plans through with her, took her advice, and deferred to her judgment. She shouldn’t have been surprised—they’d always made for a good team.

Despite the closeness, however, Ben was very careful not to touch Valerie when they were alone—always keeping a cautious, respectful distance. She shouldn’t have been surprised by that either—Ben always put up a wall when he was working through his own thoughts, and he still needed space to figure this all out.

They hadn’t spoken about the kiss. She knew that he hadn’t really intended to do it—it had happened in the wake of his nightmare coming to life. It was a moment of passion drawn from the echoes of another man’s memories.

She sighed. She loved Ben, in an obvious sort of way. She’d spent a long time wondering whether she loved the man himself, or the ghost he carried with him. But it had been the wrong question to ask. It was both—she just loved him for all of the same reasons she’d fallen for him in the first place. And while there was something reassuring about admitting that to herself, the grief she carried for the man she’d lost still lingered.

It was early evening when they arrived at their destination—a little apartment overlooking the water in Antibes. The living room was simply furnished with wicker couches and a little glass dining table. Gauzy white curtains billowed in the warm breeze, bringing a hint of sea air into the room. Valerie loved the place immediately.

She caught him smiling at her reaction, and she smiled back. She dropped her bags in the kitchen, took a quick shower, and changed into a nice dress while he busied himself with unpacking.

They went out for a quick dinner at a small waterfront restaurant. He seemed tense. She worried that he was planning a meeting he didn’t want her involved in.

“Why are we in the Riviera, Ben—really?” she asked through a bite of her dessert. “I mean it’s lovely—it is, but I don’t understand what we’re doing here.”

He hesitated before answering, his eyes shifting nervously. “You’ve done so much—for me, Val. And I realize that you—but, you know—and all that, but—I wanted you to have something nice,” he stammered sincerely, “after all that unpleasantness.” He looked at her, the longing in his eyes tempered by self-doubt.

She suddenly understood the source of his discomfort—all of this was for _her._

She instinctively took his hand from across the table and squeezed it gently. He looked at it, surprised, then carefully ran his thumb along her knuckles.

The tenderness of his touch sent a sharp pang of anticipation into her chest, electrifying her skin. She looked up at him, acutely aware of the fact that their mutual desire had finally been acknowledged. They locked eyes for a moment. He had a pained look on his face, as though he was struggling to find the right words.

He glanced down at their hands.

She could feel the tension in the air. It was the only thing she could feel.

She bit her lower lip.

“I think we should go back to the apartment,” she suggested, her voice a low whisper.

His eyes widened slightly, and he swallowed.

They didn’t speak as they walked hand-in-hand back to the building.

Her heart was pounding. She could feel the beat of her pulse in her fingers, intertwined in his.

She was desperate to be alone with him.

They rushed inside, walking quickly up the stairs. Her entire body burned with anxious energy.

He fumbled a little with the key. He opened the door for her and closed it softly behind them.

The white walls of the unlit apartment gleamed blue in the pale evening light. The only sound she could hear over her heartbeat was the whisper of the curtains billowing in the breeze.

They were alone.

She looked at him.

He held her gaze, very deliberately locking the door.

She felt a feverish heat rising up from her collarbone, curling behind her ears and flooding her cheeks. She wanted his hands on her body so badly that she could barely breathe.

He walked over to her; his eyes filled with intention.

He stopped for a moment, a breath away from her face, tilting his head down. He carefully moved his hands to her waist. She could feel them trembling.

He was nervous—more than nervous. Even after everything he knew—everything he’d been through with her—he was still afraid to touch her.

He leaned forward, resting his forehead against hers. He exhaled heavily. She could see the tortured look in his eyes as he struggled to center himself.

She placed her hands on his shoulders. He glanced at her lips.

“I love you,” she breathed, and pressed her mouth to his before he could say anything.

She felt the fire inside him roar to life. He ran his hands up her ribs, under her shoulders, pulling her into him. Her body was in chaos—there was a storm of electricity in her chest, surging through her at his touch. She grasped at his arms, clutching at the fabric of his shirt. He was hungry for this—even more than she’d realized.

It was very easy to mistake Ben for someone cold and emotionless—it was, after all, a perception he actively cultivated. But Valerie knew him—and she knew that the opposite was true. Ben maintained strict control over his impulses—religiously stifling all of his anger and fear and desire. But he couldn’t snuff it out. It always churned beneath the surface—buried deep, but ever-present. Losing that control—or choosing to let go of it—unleashed something powerfully alive.

He walked her up to the bed, his mouth traveling down the side of her neck. 

She let herself drown in the sensations—the smooth zip of her dress coming off, his hands on her thighs, the leather of his belt in her hand, the rough heat of his bare chest, the taste of his mouth, the cool softness of the sheets, the weight of his hips between her legs, the warmth of his wavering breath in her ear, his hair between her fingers, and the look in his eyes as they shared a moment of shuddering relief.

He held her tightly as he slept, as though he was afraid she might disappear. The first time they’d spent the night together, he’d done the same thing.

She’d missed him so much. Part of her felt as though he’d been brought back to life—but it was impossible to know whether the man holding her now was the man who had held her before. There was a bitterness in that uncertainty, torn as she was between the ache of grief and the ebullience of new love.

She sighed. It was an unanswerable question—he was both the same man, and a different man. He was both alive and dead—cold and buried in a place she’d never return to, just as his warm breath hushed steadily against her neck.

***

He woke to the light pouring in. The sun reached through the tall windows, diffused by the sheer white curtains. She was still sleeping, her face painted by the warmth of the daylight.

He’d woken up beside her so many times, but never like this.

It hadn’t been the same feeling as it had been in that dream. He’d been so unsure, then, and so hopeful. The anticipation and uncertainty had heightened everything—every sound, and every touch. And, he supposed, it was all amplified by the transient nature of the memory—that feeling was what he remembered most, and so it swallowed up the rest of the experience.

In the dream, he hadn’t known what he wanted until it was standing right in front of him. This time he’d _known_ for quite a while. They’d been dancing around this for months—both feeling it was inevitable, both unsure if the other felt the same way.

When he’d touched her, he’d felt as though his skin had gone up in flames, and for a blissful moment the world had burned away, and he had disappeared into her—where there was nothing to feel but lips, and heat, and skin.

She loved him. He played the words over and over again, her throaty whisper echoing in his mind.

He felt something real for her—different from his thoughtless infatuation with Juliet—different from anything he’d felt before—so different that it defied comparison. He did not know if it was love—but he was ready to admit that it might be.

He couldn’t be certain how much of what he felt was his own, and how much was the product of the memories gradually seeping into his consciousness, though that didn’t worry him as much as it once did.

He looked over at her—her naked body draped in thin white sheets. She was immeasurably beautiful.

He got out of bed, careful not to disturb her. He showered and dressed, slipping into the kitchenette to make breakfast for her.

She’d left her bag leaning against the wall next to the table. She’d always guarded that bag so carefully that he hadn’t even had the chance to betray her trust by looking through it. Curiosity got the better of him.

He glanced over his shoulder. There was no sign of movement from the bedroom.

He opened the bag and rifled through it as quietly as he could. There was nothing remotely out of place—just some of her clothes and toiletries, their stack of passports, a few wads of euros and American dollars, a couple of guns, and a somewhat alarming array of knives.

He was about to put the bag back where he found it when he noticed fraying along an inner seam. He tugged at it, revealing a tiny zipper that ran all the way to the bottom of the bag—a hidden compartment. He unzipped it and reached inside. He felt paper.

He slid it out of the seam in her bag carefully.

It was a large envelope. It held some documents—large photographs.

When he brought it to the table, he realized that she had expected he would eventually find it. She had written a warning across the flap.

_Ben—please don’t look inside. I needed to remember him. I don’t think you’ll want to see this._

Of course, it did nothing to dampen his curiosity. He opened the envelope.

There was another note inside the flap.

_Don’t say I didn’t warn you._

He slid the photos out of the envelope and onto the glass tabletop.


	22. To Murder and Create

**Chapter 22: To Murder and Create**

It took Ben a moment to understand what he was looking at. It was a wedding ceremony—Alpert officiating, though he looked quite a bit older, which struck Ben as very strange.

Stranger still was the man standing next to Alpert—beaming through happy tears at the woman across from him.

He flipped to the next photo—another from the wedding, a closeup of the happy couple. She smiled at the man so playfully—the joy on her face was undeniable. She loved him.

The next one—a candid. The pair of them laughing at something on the steps of a half-finished building. He was looking at her out of the corner of his eye—and there was something Ben couldn’t really put his finger on in his gaze. He loved her too. He _really_ loved her.

He was so lost in thought that he didn’t hear her getting out of bed. She found him sitting at the table, staring at the photos spread out in front of him.

“Oh,” she said simply, and he looked up at her.

“You married him?”

She nodded and gave him an expectant look—she’d anticipated a slew of questions to follow, but he was silent for a while.

He picked the first photo out of the pile. “I have never been this happy,” he told her. “Not once in my life.”

“I know,” she said, nodding. “Neither had I.”

“How long were you married to him?”

She sat down, sighing. “Almost twenty-two years.”

He looked up at her sharply.

“We both got the Richard Alpert special as our gift that day,” she explained, tapping the photo with her index finger. “Twenty-two years. Then your tumor came back. And you died.”

She said it matter-of-factly, but he could tell that it was through a clenched jaw. She didn’t want to cry.

“It was your choice to let it take you. You’d been given a second chance at life, you said, and you had done it right. You’d loved and been loved, and you had learned to be kind, and it had all been enough. It was just your time to go. But it killed me to watch you in so much pain. You never forgave yourself for Alex—not for a moment. I think part of you decided it was what you deserved.”

He touched her arm gently.

“You had this thought that the Orchid could send me back and I could save Alex—we figured out how to make it work. We knew there was no undoing what had already happened—but there was a chance that with the Orchid, we could create another future. We did what we could to ease your pain, but you didn’t want to lose your mental acuity, so we couldn’t do much. I stayed with you until the end. We buried you next to her. And the next day, I left.”

“I woke up in Tunisia on September 20th, 2004—thirty-four years in the past. The version of myself that was alive at that time dropped dead the day that I arrived.”

“The girl in the newspaper?”

She nodded. “It hasn’t been that long—I guess I’m still grieving you.”

He eyed the tear that rolled down her cheek and reached out to wipe it away with his thumb.

He didn’t speak for a while. He stared at the photos spread out on the table, his eyes drawn again to the adoring, happy smile on his own face—so unfamiliar that he barely recognized himself.

“I suppose I understand.”

“Understand what?”

He pulled one of the photos across the table with his index finger and tapped his own smiling face. “How he could feel like this.”

She smiled sadly, letting herself get lost in the memories spread out before her.

“Do you remember any of this?” she asked after a while. “Or do you only remember Alex?”

“I remember a few things of particular emotional significance,” he answered obliquely.

“Like what?”

He felt his cheeks grow a bit hot. “There’s only one other complete memory,” he explained, “a dream that I remembered clearly.”

She raised an eyebrow quizzically.

“It was the first time you and I—in my hallway,” he stammered. “Actually, I remembered that quite a while ago.”

She grinned at him, amused at his embarrassment.

“Everything else is just a flash—a memory of a memory. I remembered this, I think,” he told her, tapping the photo of them on the stoop. “But just that glance at your face.”

She took the photo from him as he continued.

“I remember stabbing a man in the heart—in a dark, torchlit old room—and I remember a little boy on a sailboat.”

He thought about the little boy for a moment. “He wasn’t—

“Ours?” she interrupted. “No. You’re probably remembering Charlie—Desmond’s son. You almost killed Penny on that boat.”

Desmond’s angry punches flashed back into his mind. “That would be why he didn’t like me very much.”

She nodded, smiling.

“Did we?”

“Have any children?”

He nodded.

“No,” she said simply. “I never wanted to be a mother, and I’d made sure that I couldn’t become one long before I ended up on the Island. We had a long talk about children, once—all of us. We came to the conclusion that the Island should be a place that you choose. It’s not fair to raise children so isolated from the world. We didn’t want another cult.”

He nodded, agreeing with the logic—though he realized with some discomfort that the cult to which she referred was his own.

“Why do you have all these?” he asked suddenly.

“The photos? Temporal displacement,” she replied.

“What?”

“Desmond explained it to us. I think Daniel Faraday—that fidgety scientist—figured it out. When you’re moved from your own time, the disconnect can, in some cases, lead to hemorrhaging and organ failure.”

“Your nosebleeds?”

She nodded.

“The solution is to find what he called a ‘constant.’ Something real—something present in both times that you know well—to ground you where you are. Desmond’s photo of Penny worked for him. I thought your presence would be enough—but it was better to bring the photos.”

“It wasn’t enough though, was it?”

She shook her head. “You weren’t really the same man.”

“They’ve stopped though, haven’t they?”

She nodded again. “I haven’t had one since I told you where I came from.”

He exhaled heavily and took her hand. He touched the rings on her finger, suddenly frowning at them.

He fiddled with his own, spinning it around his finger.

“Was this really mine—his?”

“It was.”

“Are yours real too?”

She smiled and took them off, handing them to him.

He looked at them carefully, squinting at the age-worn inscription.

_R + E 1962_

“These were my mother’s?”

She nodded. It seemed right to him, somehow, that he’d have given them to her.

“I have these somewhere—I’m not sure where, maybe—”

“They’re in a box in your basement,” Valerie interrupted. “I stumbled onto them. They’re still there, strangely enough.”

“How curious,” he replied absently, still staring at them.

“You can hold on to them, if you want,” she offered.

“Oh, not at all,” he said softly. He took her hand and gently slid the rings back onto her finger.

“You do want to keep wearing them, don’t you?” he asked, still holding her hand.

She raised an eyebrow and gave him a meaningful look.

He smiled slyly.

“I do,” she answered.

***

They lived through the next couple of weeks in a state of distracted happiness. She loved him unreservedly. She didn’t say the words again, but she didn’t have to. The floodgates of her affection had been opened—she held his hand, she kissed him in the street—there was love in everything she did.

He’d been so careful not to give himself the opportunity to cave to his desires—he had kept his distance, never telling her how he felt—never telling her what he so desperately wanted. But there was no reason to stifle it anymore, and there was an incredible relief in allowing himself to want her.

And _she_ wanted _him_. In the privacy of the little apartment, she was bursting with intensity and passion. He’d never imagined that he could feel so desired _._ It was such a powerful change that he let himself forget about the rest of the world, clinging blindly to the sense of elation she’d given him. 

It was almost hard to believe that she was the same woman who had coldly gunned a man down in the street less than a month ago.

But that was Valerie; she was a study in contradictions—both crass and eloquent, fierce and vulnerable, ruthless and kind, serious and—at times—utterly silly. She was maddening—smart, articulate, stubborn—unpredictable in some ways and wholly predictable in others. She understood him—she knew the worst of his sins—and, somehow, she loved him anyway.

It was difficult to understand what she saw in him. She was—in mind and body—the most attractive woman he’d ever known. He knew that she deserved a much better man—someone handsome, someone kind—more deserving of her love. But she made him _feel_ like a better man—and he’d begun to see himself through her eyes.

It wasn’t that she’d changed him. She’d simply shined a light on the better facets of his nature and had shown him what was already there. 

If he had the capacity to fall in love with anyone, he realized, it would be with her.

They’d spent the afternoon wandering aimlessly around, enjoying the weather and each other’s company.

“Did you want to stop at the market?” he suggested. “I thought you might want to pick up a few things.”

She agreed happily, and they walked leisurely to the produce market in the old part of the city.

“Peaches are in season,” he noted idly as they strolled past a fruit stand.

“You hate peaches,” she reminded him.

“No I don’t?”

“What are you talking about?” she insisted, “you won’t touch them. You can barely even look at them.”

“Val, I definitely like peaches—I get them whenever I can. They’re Alexandra’s favorite fruit.”

Valerie stopped in her tracks.

“Ben,” she said softly.

He looked back at her, confused.

“What?”

“I never realized that was _why_ ,” she whispered. “You never told me.”

He grimaced—reminded for the first time in a while of how he’d let Alex die—and realizing why her version of him had been unable to stomach peaches. Val reached out and squeezed his hand. All of the darkness that he’d let himself forget came flooding back.

“I’d like to have a few words with Charles,” he told her.

“I think we probably owe him a visit,” she agreed.

***

A week later, the pair of them lied their way into Widmore’s London apartment building. They were armed—just as a precaution. Ben had wanted to go alone, but Valerie had insisted on joining him. He agreed on the condition that she resist the urge to engage with Charles, and he had made her promise not to interfere.

They found him asleep in his bed.

“Wake up, Charles” Ben intoned, glancing derisively at the bottle of MacCutcheon on Widmore’s bedside table.

He sat up in bed and flicked on his lamp. He squinted as his eyes adjusted to the light.

“Benjamin. I wondered when you would show up. You’ve been rather busy.”

“I suppose I have.”

“Why are you here? What do you want?”

“To keep the Island safe,” Ben answered slowly, “from you.”

Charles bristled at the accusation. “Don't stand there, looking at me with those horrible eyes of yours and pretend that—”

Ben raised his gun and Charles stopped talking, noticing that there was someone standing in the shadows behind Ben.

“I see you brought your assassin with you. An interesting choice in contract killer—though, admittedly, an effective one.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Valerie said. “Assassin definitely has a nice ring to it.”

He looked up at her sharply. “How much is he paying you? I’ll triple it.”

Valerie laughed. “Oh, go fuck yourself Charles.”

He seemed taken aback by her reaction.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

She stepped into the light. “My name, Charles, is Valerie Beatrix Linus.”

Widmore was visibly confused. He stared at Valerie—gorgeous and intimidating in her red lipstick and slick black outfit.

Ben sighed a little to himself. He should have known Valerie couldn’t keep her promise.

“Charles, I have the great pleasure of introducing you to my wife.”

“Your _what_?”

Ben didn’t respond. Charles eyed Valerie skeptically.

“The very thing you exiled me for doing, boy?”

“We both know you were exiled for shirking your duty to the Island,” Ben replied, “not for sowing your seed elsewhere, so to speak.”

Valerie’s face twitched in amusement at Ben’s choice of words.

“Do you know what kind of man he is, girl? You’re wasting your life, spending it with a scheming sewer rat like him. Has he told you how he—”

“Participated in the purge? Killed his father? Lied, manipulated, abused his power?” Valerie interrupted. “It’s a long list, Charles, but he’s still twice the man you’ve ever been.” 

“What kind of person could love a man like that?”

“That’s rich coming from a man who has never loved anyone but himself,” Ben spat back before Valerie could respond.

“You’re one to talk, Benjamin.”

“I love my daughter. I love my wife.”

Charles scoffed. “You don’t even know what that means.”

Ben thought for a moment before disagreeing. “You once told me that I’d have to choose between my daughter and the Island,” he began. “I used to think that would be an impossible decision. How could I ever sacrifice the place I devoted my life to? But you see, Charles, it’s the simplest thing—I understand that now. I’d choose _her_ every time. Even if it meant I lost everything. Even if it meant giving my life. That’s what love is.”

He glanced over his shoulder at Valerie. She smiled encouragingly.

“And Val—she nearly died protecting my daughter—from you. If it weren’t for Valerie, my daughter would be dead. Is there anyone who cares enough about _you_ to stop a bullet meant for _your_ daughter, Charles?”

Widmore immediately understood that to be a threat.

“You can’t touch her—and even if you could, you’ll never find her,” He snapped back.

“She’s in a marina in San Diego with Desmond and their son Charlie,” Valerie informed him calmly, looking at her blood-red fingernails.

He tensed up.

“I know Penny quite well actually. Did you know that in the eighth grade at St. Brigid’s she was suspended for having cocaine in her locker? I guess you might _not_ know that, being mostly uninvolved in her life. What did you have against Desmond, by the way? He adores her. You’d think a man would want his daughter to be happy—”

“Stop.”

“She just had a baby, Charles,” Valerie continued. “It would be a shame for a boy to lose his mother so young, but sometimes that’s just the way of things.”

“I take back what I said—you two are perfect for each other.”

“Something we agree on,” Ben replied, still aiming his weapon at Widmore’s head.

“Put that thing down, boy. We both know you can’t kill me.”

“He can’t—" Valerie agreed, raising her gun.

A look of confusion and fear flashed across Widmore’s face.

“—but I can.”

She pulled the trigger.

Charles slumped backward, blood flooding out from the bullet hole in the center of his forehead.

Ben turned to Valerie, gaping at her.

“Val—what have you done?”

“I killed him for you,” she answered casually.

“You can’t—that’s against the rules—we can’t just—”

“You would have killed him eventually, Ben. The horrible things that man has done—the things that he _would_ have done—he deserved worse. Besides, the _rules_ don’t apply to me.”

She wiped down the gun and placed it on the bedside table.

“Shall we?”

Stunned, he followed Valerie out of the penthouse and down the stairwell.

“That was nice, what you said, by the way,” she murmured as they slipped back out into the night. “Was it true?”

He looked at her, still in shock. He glanced up at the top of the building and back at her. “Of course,” he answered, “every word.”


	23. The Truth

**Chapter 23: The Truth**

After the murder of Charles Widmore, Ben and Valerie spent several months living quietly in southern California.

Valerie quickly slipped back into old domestic habits—her life with Ben had never been ordinary, but they’d been profoundly content living together. There was a comfort in resuming those familiar rhythms—as far as they were from the Island, it was the closest she’d felt to being at home in a long time.

In a sense, she _was_ home—she’d never really been happy in L.A., but she’d lived here for years. She didn’t have any interest in visiting her old haunts, preferring to spend her time inside the little house they were renting. It had a lemon tree out front, and a pool in the back yard—a perfect place to disappear into oblivion while Ben followed the threads of his plan to get back to the Island.

She wished that she’d pressed her version of him for more information about the time he’d spent off Island. She knew the rough outlines of it—he’d told her a bit about Sayid, and John’s death, and Penny. She knew that they’d all have to get on a specific flight—but beyond that, the details were fuzzy. Saving Alex had been the priority—Ben had never liked to talk about the time immediately after her death, and Val had decided that it wasn’t worth forcing him to relive it.

Even though the picture they had was incomplete, Ben seemed sure that they just needed to make sure the conditions would be right when the time came. Val kept an eye on the local Oceanic Six passengers for him—fortunately Hugo, Kate, and Jack were all in the area.

Sun had gone back to Korea. Val had never really had a chance to meet Sun on the Island. Ben—in her time—had always spoken highly of Sun’s grit, intelligence, and love for her husband. Ben seemed certain she’d show up in L.A. when she needed to, so Valerie had not let herself get too concerned.

She had been, however, very concerned with Sayid’s situation. In what was a either a remarkable coincidence or a cruel twist of fate, Sayid had—without any help or encouragement from Ben—tracked down the people responsible for Nadia’s death. He’d eventually placed the blame at the feet of Charles Widmore and had gone to Widmore’s London penthouse to take his revenge, only to find the man already dead.

In his confusion, it seemed, Sayid had examined the gun Valerie had left behind, leaving behind his fingerprints. He’d been identified, and eventually arrested and extradited to England for the crime.

She wasn’t all that familiar with British criminal procedure, but she had been a good prosecutor in her day, so she had set herself to work compiling enough exculpatory evidence that the Crown couldn’t bring charges in good faith. She and Ben had paid some good defense lawyers to take his case and anonymously tipped them off to the evidence that Crown was in possession of. He was set to be released later that week.

She had also convinced Ben not to trust Dan Norton—the lawyer Mittelos Bioscience usually engaged. He was—in Valerie’s estimation—a bit of a sleazy second tier bottom feeder. She handled the paperwork in the custody dispute over Aaron, leaving Dan to meet with Kate in person. They had been successful in returning Aaron to his grandmother, though Valerie hated seeing Kate spiral into despondence.

Valerie was sitting in her black Jeep outside of Hurley’s house—nothing interesting had happened in a few weeks—Hurley had been staying at home as much as possible. Valerie assumed he’d been seeing things—the way he had in her time. This time, he seemed to have enough support from his friends that he hadn’t yet needed to get professional help.

She wasn’t surprised to see that Hurley had a visitor, but she was startled to see that it was John Locke, being wheeled around by Matthew Abbadon.

As soon as Locke entered the house, she called Ben from her car. He didn’t answer.

“Hi hon,” she began, after the automated voicemail prompt. “An old friend just stopped by Hugo’s house.”

She paused and watched as he became agitated, racing out his front door. “I’m not going back there!” she heard him shout to a dismayed John.

“Doesn’t look like it’s going well—I’ll call you back. Love you.”

She watched Hurley peel away into the road. Abbadon wheeled Locke around and hurriedly got him into the car.

Valerie watched as they tried to chase Hurley through a yellow light. Hurley’s car veered into oncoming traffic and was stopped by a minor collision. Abbadon’s car, however, was hit violently on the driver’s side by a car speeding wildly into the intersection.

As Valerie started driving cautiously away from the scene, Ben called back.

“Got your message,” he said.

“Well _this_ is a clusterfuck. It’s John. I think he tried to convince Hugo to go back which did _not_ go well for him. Widmore’s elusive friend Matthew might be dead though—so there’s a silver lining, I guess. How’s your day going?”

Ben didn’t say anything.

“Are you there?”

“If you could come home soon, that would be great.”

“What?”

“We have a guest. She would like to speak to you.”

His tone sent a chill down Valerie’s spine. “I’ll be right there,” she replied decisively and hung up.

She drove home as fast as she could, her heart racing the entire time. She assumed that Kate had snapped—Aaron had become a son to her, and her life was being ripped apart. An extreme reaction would be justified.

She pulled into her driveway and pulled the gun out of the glove compartment, just in case.

She walked swiftly into the house.

“I’m here,” she announced.

“We’re in the kitchen,” Ben called back. He seemed composed, but she could tell he was in distress.

She turned the corner into the kitchen. He had a gun to his head, as she’d suspected—but Kate wasn’t the one holding it. It was Sun.

“Put it down,” she instructed, aiming her gun at Sun’s head.

“You first,” Sun replied.

“Could we perhaps all lower our guns at the same time?” Ben suggested.

“Shut up!” they both snapped back at him.

“Sorry,” Val added.

He glared at her.

“What do you want, Sun?”

“I want my husband back from the dead,” she answered, angrily forcing the barrel of the gun against Ben’s head. He winced.

“First of all—Jin isn’t dead. Why do you think he’s dead? And why do you think it’s Ben’s fault?”

“Jin was on the freighter when it exploded. And I know who would have wanted the freighter gone—the man it was there to capture.”

Ben shot Valerie a plaintive look.

“He’s not dead, Sun. And the freighter—Widmore had it rigged to blow if things started to go bad for him. Do you think he wanted anyone to escape the Island? I’d suggest Widmore if you’re looking for someone to shoot in the head, but he’s already dead.”

“I tried to tell her,” Ben explained. “She doesn’t believe me. I thought you could explain _how_ you know Jin is alive—just to Sun.”

“Will you put the gun down if I promise to explain?”

Sun thought about it for a moment before relenting. She set the gun on the table. Ben grabbed it quickly and jumped up to Valerie’s side.

Valerie lowered her weapon. “Are you sure you want me to tell her the truth?”

He nodded, then turned to their guest. “Sun, it’s important that you keep this a secret—at least for now.”

Sun nodded, confused.

“I really am Ben’s wife,” Valerie began. “I met him on the Island when my sailboat was wrecked—in twenty-fourteen.”

She didn’t seem to process what Valerie had said.

“The year two thousand and fourteen?” she clarified skeptically.

Valerie nodded. “In my time, Ben died—his tumor came back. For the same reasons that the Island can’t be found, it has the ability to shift time. In my timeline, Ben’s daughter was killed by the mercenaries on the freighter. I came back to stop that. I know Jin is still on the Island, alive, because for me, it’s already happened.”

She was careful not to give Sun too many details.

“Do you know us—in the future? Was he still on the Island when you arrived?”

“No,” she said simply. “Ben was one of only a few people who chose to stay,” she added obliquely.

“How do you know things happened the same way?” Sun asked shrewdly. “Didn’t you save his daughter?”

She looked at Ben apologetically. “I don’t know, Sun. Almost everything has happened very much the way it was told to me. I know that my presence has changed many things—but life and death seem almost constant.”

“Almost,” Sun repeated.

Valerie nodded. “I believe he’s alive, but I can’t promise it. We’re all going to need to go back. I know you’ll come with us, even if there’s only a chance he’s there.”

Sun nodded slowly.

“Trust me, I understand how you feel. We’ll find him.”

Valerie ushered a shaken Sun out the door and gave her Kate’s address. “She could use a familiar face,” Valerie suggested.

“Thank you,” Sun replied. She seemed lost in thought as she drove off.

Ben exhaled loudly when Valerie re-entered the kitchen. “Well, I suppose that could have been worse. We need to talk about John, I suppose.

“Are you alright?”

“I am now. What happened with Hugo and John?”

“They were in a car accident. Hugo ran from John—right into an intersection. It didn’t look good. But I suspect I know what hospital they went to.”

“Jack’s?”

“That’s my guess.”

“So, what should we do?” He asked her.

She thought for a moment. “Should we stop in on Jack?”

“I don’t think that would go very well,” Ben mused, “he seems erratic these days. What about Desmond? Jack would have an easier time trusting him. So would Hugo.”

Her eyes lit up. “Yes—of course. It has to be Desmond.”

They went for a drive the next day and found Desmond’s boat docked in Marina del Rey.

“Desmond, it’s Valerie,” she shouted from down the dock. Desmond poked his head out from the cabin of the boat.

They locked eyes for a moment. Desmond frowned intensely, then looked over at Ben. He seemed paralyzed by confusion.

“You remember this, don’t you?” Valerie asked him, recognizing the distant, confused look on his face.

“I remember _him_ shooting at me. Waving a gun at Charlie. You weren’t here.”

“That sounds about right,” Ben agreed, holding his empty hands in the air. “No gun this time, Desmond. We come in peace.”

Valerie rolled her eyes.

“We need to talk,” Ben continued.

Penny emerged from the boat with a sleeping Charlie in her arms. Valerie grinned broadly at her. She frowned back, confused.

“Is everything okay?” she asked Desmond. “Who are these people?”

“They’re friends, Pen, but I have a feeling I’m not going to like what they’re about to say.”

“We have to go back to the Island,” Valerie said.

“Yeah, I don’t like that at all,” he replied.

“I know this sounds ridiculous, but the fate of the world depends on your presence.”

Desmond zoned out again. “I do have to be there, don’t I?”

She nodded. “Sorry,” she added, glancing at Penny.

“I suppose I don’t have a choice.”

Ben shook his head.

"If I don’t come with you—Charles would have taken me there.” He turned to Penny, frowning deeply.

“He’s gone, darling. He can’t hurt us anymore.”

Ben and Valerie shared a quick glance. They had decided not to discuss their involvement in his death in front of Penny.

“We can’t force you to come with us, Des,” Val pleaded, “but we need you.”

“Well, we could force you—”

“Ben, for the love of fuck—”

“—but we’re not _going_ to.”

“That’s not helpful,” she hissed.

“See, I knew you two were married,” Desmond interrupted with a smirk.

Ben chuckled.

“It will all be fine, won’t it?” Desmond implored earnestly. “Going back? It works out.”

“I hope so,” Val replied, biting her lip. “We kind of also need your help wrangling the rest of them.”

“We’re not sure they’ll trust us,” Ben explained.

“My god,” Desmond quipped sarcastically, “I wonder why.”

Penny was understanding, but not thrilled. She stared pensively at Ben and Valerie as they explained the situation to Desmond. Valerie wondered whether or not she had some fragment of a memory as well, or whether she was just curious about the strangers who seemed to know her husband.

As far as she could tell, only Desmond and Ben seemed to have any concrete memory of her version of events. It made some sense—Desmond had an unusual relationship with time, and she was connected to Ben more deeply than anyone else. Still, she wondered if Hurley would remember, or if the Hurley she knew had become a fundamentally different person when he assumed his position.

At Ben’s request, the next day, Desmond went alone to visit Jack at the hospital.

He called Valerie from the car.

“I have Jack with me on speaker,” he informed her. She took the phone into the living room and sat next Ben.

“Linus is on speaker too.”

“John didn’t make it—he succumbed to the injuries he suffered in the car accident,” Jack told them.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Ben replied somberly.

“Before he died, he told me what he was trying to do. We need to go back—we need to bring everyone back.”

“Yes, Jack—we know,” Ben replied. “Did he say anything about _how_?”

“He told me I need to find a woman named Eloise Hawking.”

“Alright,” Ben agreed quickly. “Do we know where she is?”

“John had her address. Desmond will send it to Valerie. He didn’t seem to think there was much time to spare. We’re heading there now.”

“We can pick up Hurley on the way,” Desmond added. “Jack can get him out of the mental facility.”

“The _what?_ ” Valerie asked.

“We’ll also see if Kate and Sun will join us,” Jack said, ignoring the question. “Meet us there in two hours.”

“We’ll be there,” Ben answered, and hung up.


	24. The End of Eternity

**Chapter 24: The End of Eternity**

Ben eyed Valerie closely, noticing the concern on her face. She didn’t seem happy about the call with Jack, but he wasn’t sure if it was due to Hugo’s institutionalization, or something else. “What’s wrong?” he asked cautiously.

“I don’t think Eloise is going to be happy with me.”

“What? Why not?”

Valerie avoided eye contact for a moment, pursing her lips as she tried to find the best way to answer him.

“I may have broken a few rules,” she offered evasively.

“Whose rules?”

“I mean ‘rules’ is probably not the right word.”

“Valerie. What did you do?”

“You _are_ glad you met me, right?” she asked.

“Of course,” Ben answered hesitantly.

Valerie pulled her short hair into a ponytail and started pacing around the living room. “The thing with trying to change the past is that you inevitably change the future—like, no matter what happens next, I’m not going to show up on the beach in seven years, because in this timeline I’m dead—and you’re not going to have let Martin Keamy kill Alex, and Charles isn’t going to be alive to take Desmond back to the Island.”

Ben frowned at her.

“The bigger the change to the past, the more different the present would become. And our present was pretty good. We’d kept the Island safe.”

“What are you saying? What rules did you break?”

“We agreed that that I would go back on the condition that I would hide alone in the jungle until I could intervene and save Alex, changing as little as possible, and not contacting any of you.”

Ben gaped at her.

“Which is not exactly what I did.”

“Val.”

“For what it’s worth, _you_ were fine with it. We both argued that changing _anything_ would require interference. You believed that the Island would make sure the important things happened. You said as long as you didn’t know who I really was, it should be fine.”

“Oh dear.”

“The thing is, hon, you were right. The same people left the Island. The same people died.”

“Except Alex.”

“The same Oceanic Passengers. Alex, Danielle, Karl, Ethan—they’re all fine. There are others, probably—I only know what you guys told me. Maybe it’s not exactly the same, but we do keep getting pushed on to the same general path.”

He grimaced.

“I’d _just_ lost you,” she continued defensively. “As soon as I arrived at the hotel in Tozeur and saw that I’d made it to the right year—my only thought was that you were _alive_ in this world. How could I not want to find you? Besides—you have memories of your life—none of us expected that.”

“Who are the others? You keep saying ‘us.’ Who are we talking about?”

She was silent for a moment. “Walt was there—I guess I can tell you that. And Desmond came to visit sometimes.”

“Walt? Michael’s son?”

“He grew up to be quite a formidable scientist,” Valerie said with a wistful smile. “He’s the one who figured this all out.” She locked eyes with him, then looked away with a sigh.

“What aren’t you telling me, Val?” He asked gently.

She sighed. “Jacob’s replacement—that’s what all of this is about.”

Ben’s eyes widened for a moment. “The man I stabbed in that dark room—that was Jacob, wasn’t it? I killed him?”

She was stunned that he’d remembered. “You did,” she replied.

His eyes became distant again. “It was Hugo?” he said, confused. “His replacement was Hugo?”

She sat down and nodded at him, too surprised to hide the truth.

“I don’t really have any distinct memories,” he explained, “it just feels like factual knowledge.”

“No one ever considered that you’d remember. I’m not sure what it means.”

“Maybe Eloise will know.”

“Maybe,” Valerie replied, “but I think I’m going to stay in the car.”

***

Ben was a bit lost in his own head as he drove to the address Desmond had sent. He wasn’t angry with Valerie for hiding the details from him—or for ignoring the agreement they had evidently made with Hugo. It was difficult to be angry when he could barely process the reality of the situation—and when, in truth, had Valerie _not_ done what she’d done, Alex would probably be dead.

His memories had been coming back—not in solid, tangible pieces, but in a sea of tiny fragments that refused to coalesce. His other life was just out of reach—memories he would recognize as his own if only he could draw the little pieces together in his mind.

He couldn’t quite remember, but he _knew_ things. He knew what it felt like to live with the fact that he’d sentenced his own child to death—knew how it felt to carry that burden for the rest of his life. And he knew that had he died with that moment on his mind.

He glanced at Val as he pulled into their destination—a nondescript looking church in a quiet neighborhood. She was anxiously grinding her teeth.

He knew that he had loved her. The feeling was still foreign to him—it was more deep-seated and constant than the buoyant giddiness that had held him captive since the moment she’d kissed him. He also knew—with certainty—that the feeling was the inevitable future of whatever was currently taking root in his heart. That feeling didn’t belong to some other man. It was _his_ —or, rather _theirs—_ and, perhaps most importantly, he knew that she felt that same love for him.

“You should come into the church, Val,” Ben told her as he backed the car into a spot.

“I don’t want to. I don’t like churches.”

He stared her down.

“What if we broke the universe, Ben?” she asked with palpable sincerity.

He chuckled and took her hand. “Then it’s probably too late to fix it. You ought to face whatever comes next.”

He got out of the car and opened the door for her. She shot him a sullen look and huffed as she stepped out into the parking lot. He put his arm around her shoulder and kissed the side of her head.

She leaned into him gratefully, but she pulled away as they reached the door—straightening her back and inhaling deliberately.

In the church, they found Jack, Desmond, Hugo, and Sun sitting in the pews. Jack was sporting a beard and looking a bit bleary eyed. Hugo seemed agitated by the situation, but he was holding it together. Sun was composed—though clearly a bit on edge. Desmond—with his legs loosely crossed and his arms spread out over the back of the pew—was the only one who seemed at ease.

“No Kate?” Valerie shouted down the aisle.

“She wouldn’t get in a car with me,” Jack explained. “She blames me for losing Aaron—she blames me for a lot of things.”

“To be fair to Jack, I don’t think she’d have gotten in a car with you two either,” Desmond added.

“Thanks Des,” Val snapped back sarcastically.

Hugo looked shiftily at the pair of them but didn’t say anything.

Eloise Hawking appeared from a side door, her distinctive white hair elegantly coiffed, as it always was. Ben had known her on the Island and seen her a few times since she’d left—though it had been a while since their last meeting. Eloise had been touched by the Island in a strange way—it had given her a deeper understanding of the things that made it special, and she had tasked herself with protecting it—or perhaps _it_ had tasked her.

“Quite a turnout this afternoon,” she said, addressing the group. “A few more than I was expecting, but no matter. I suppose we better get started.”

She turned and walked back towards the door she’d entered from. “Shall we?” she called back at them.

They shared a number of confused glances, but no one said a word as they followed her.

Eloise led them down a spiral staircase and opened an old metal door emblazoned with a DHARMA logo. They stepped into the room—it was filled with dated technology and had a massive map of the world on the floor.

“What is this place?” Jack asked, awed.

“The DHARMA Initiative called it the Lamp Post. This is how they found the Island.”

Jack turned to Ben. “Did you know about this?”

“I knew _of_ it,” he answered carefully, “but I did not know how to find it. I suppose there is some irony in that.”

Jack nodded absently, staring at the contraptions in the room.

“You’re looking well, Benjamin,” Eloise told him suddenly. She noticed the ring on his finger and frowned, glancing at the group. She eyed Valerie but didn’t make any comments.

She turned to Desmond. “You don’t seem surprised to see me, Mr. Hume.”

“I’m rarely surprised these days,” he answered. “Thanks for talking me into that sailing race, by the way,” he added sarcastically.

She raised an eyebrow and smiled slightly.

“You’re Daniel’s mother, aren’t you?” Desmond continued.

“Yes.”

“I think he wanted me to tell you something, but he disappeared before he could tell me how to find you.”

“What was his message?”

“That you would be able to help.”

“Precisely,” she agreed, and took a deep breath. “Alright then—I apologize if what I’m about to say is confusing, but it’s a confusing sort of matter we’re dealing with.”

She took a step back and looked at each of them in turn.

“The room we're standing in was constructed years ago over a unique pocket of electromagnetic energy,” she explained. “That energy connects to similar pockets all over the world. The people who built this room, however, were only interested in one.”

“The Island?” Sun asked.

“Yes. The Island. They had gathered proof that it existed, but they couldn't quite find it. Then, a very clever fellow built _this_ pendulum on the theoretical notion that they should stop looking for where the island was _supposed_ to be and start looking for where it was _going_ to be.”

The pendulum swung past them across the floor.

“Where it’s _going_ to be?” Jack asked.

“Our clever fellow presumed—correctly, as it turned out—that the Island was always moving. Why do you think you were never rescued?”

Jack frowned.

“Now, while the movements of the Island _seem_ random,” Eloise continued, “this man and his team created a series of equations which tell us, with a high degree of probability, where it is going to be at a given point in time. We can determine when and where a window will be open—and windows provide a route back to the Island. Unfortunately, they don't stay open for very long. Yours closes in about sixty hours.”

“That’s not a lot of time,” Ben noted.

“It is not,” Eloise agreed. “There's a commercial airliner flying from L.A. to Guam. It's going to go right through our window. Ajira Airways, Flight 316. If you have any hope of the Island bringing you back, it must be _that_ plane, and you _all_ need to be on it. You need to recreate—as best you can—the circumstances that brought you there in the first place.”

Jack nodded, unquestioningly accepting everything Eloise was telling them.

“Sayid’s flight from London is scheduled to arrive at LAX in two days,” Valerie offered, her voice quiet. “We can stop him at the airport.”

Eloise frowned at her. “Who are you, my dear?”

“I was on Oceanic 815,” she answered meekly.

“I see. And how is that you are not on the Island? I don’t recall hearing about an Oceanic _Seven_.”

“She helped me move it,” Ben answered, sensing Valerie’s discomfort with the conversation.

Eloise looked at Ben and smiled a little. “I see,” she said again. She turned back to the group. “John Locke’s funeral will be held here tonight,” she told them. “I hope you’ll all join me. He’ll need to make the return trip with you as well.”

“He’s dead though?” Hugo asked shyly.

“As was Jack’s father,” Eloise acknowledged. “John’s body will act as a proxy for Mr. Shephard’s. That is, unfortunately, critically important.”

“Oh,” Hugo said, “okay.”

“Mr. Linus, you’ll stay for a quick word with me after we wrap this up. And your lovely wife as well.”

Jack scoffed “She’s not—”

“—of course,” Ben agreed, shooting Jack a sharp look. “We’ll see you all this evening,” he told the group.

As the rest of the group dispersed, Eloise guided the pair of them into her office. She inhaled sharply as she closed the door. “Benjamin, _what_ did you do?”

He sighed and placed his hand on Valerie’s back. “This is Valerie. She _was_ on Oceanic 815, though her trip to the Island started in—what was it darling?”

“2038,” Valerie answered.

“2038,” Ben told Eloise. “She saved my daughter’s life.”

“Oh my.” She stared at the both of them. “What a mess you’ve made.”

“Are you sure it’s a mess, Eloise? Valerie seems to think things have happened nearly the same way as they did in her version of things—as if there is course correction—the Island pushing things back to where they need to be.”

“It’s not sentient, Benjamin.”

“No—of course. You understand all this far better than I do—couldn’t some force be pulling the pieces to where they’re supposed to be?”

“It’s possible,” she conceded, turning back to Valerie. “Why did you do this? Why risk undoing your future—a future, where, I must assume, everyone made it on that plane and did what they had to do?”

Valerie bit her lip and sighed before answering. “For him,” she answered, “he was dying, and he was in agony over having let his daughter die. He asked me to try. And I love him, so I did.”

Eloise stared Valerie down, looking intently into her eyes. Valerie stared back, her expression open and completely sincere.

“Alright,” Eloise said with a slight nod, her assessment seemingly concluded. “2038, you said? How old _are_ you, Valerie?”

“It’s getting a bit hard to keep track—fifty-five, I guess. Depending on how you count the months we lose in transit."

Eloise raised a single eyebrow. “Jacob gave you the gift he gave Alpert?”

“Both of us—but it wasn’t—"

“The details are a little different,” Ben interrupted.

“How did you get back in time?” Eloise continued, ignoring Ben’s interjection. “How did you do it with such precision?”

“The Orchid,” Valerie replied. “We had a brilliant young man working on it. He figured out how to send me through to Tunisia, but backwards instead of forwards, if that makes sense? None of it really made sense to me, but—”

“It does. And you’re certain that you’re not in a loop?”

“A loop?”

“That you had always made this trip, and everything has occurred as it had already happened?”

“Like with the Incident?”

“Exactly.”

“No,” Val answered, “it’s definitely not a loop. Ben remembers his other life.”

“How curious,” Eloise mused. “What do you remember?”

“I remember my daughter dying—I remember—”

He blushed, thinking of his palms on Valerie’s hips in his hallway.

“—moments of personal emotional significance.”

“And his memories are consistent with what you know?” Eloise asked Valerie.

Valerie nodded. “And I haven’t prompted them—not intentionally.”

“I remembered Alex dying before I even met Val. Of course, I didn’t know it was a memory, but—”

“You didn’t tell me that,” Valerie interjected.

“I had that dream for the first time the night the plane crashed,” he explained.

“It doesn’t matter,” Eloise told them. “What matters now is ensuring that the right things happen when you get back. The trouble is that _knowing_ what is supposed to happen is the best way to ensure it won’t—much the way that observing particles affects their behavior. Do you know what needs to happen?”

“Yes,” Ben answered, “I need to—”

“Don’t tell me. Don’t tell anyone else—and don’t go out of your way to make any of it happen. Things will certainly be at least a little different. Don’t fight the current. Don’t think about what you ought to do to. React to the things that happen without any mind to what you think _needs_ to happen.”

He nodded. “We can do that.”

“You may both go,” she told them.

Valerie exhaled deeply. He took her hand as they turned to leave.

“I’ll see you at the funeral?” Eloise asked.

“Of course,” he answered.

“Very well.”

“Benjamin,” Eloise called as they stepped through the door, “she’s changed you—for the better.”

“She has,” he agreed. He could see Valerie smile through the corner of his eye. “We’ll see you tonight.”

They walked in silence back to the car. He expected Val to be relieved, but she seemed pensive.

“How do you want to kill the time?”

“I just want to go home,” she told him.

“Alright,” he agreed, frowning.

She turned the radio on and leaned her head against the window as he drove.

She’d fallen asleep by the time he pulled into the driveway.

“Val,” he said, nudging her gently.

“Oh,” she replied, blinking herself awake.

He opened the passenger door for her. She grasped his hand as they walked to the house.

“I think I just want to lie down for a bit,” she told him.

He followed her into the bedroom and watched with concern as she collapsed in a heap on top of the covers. He lay down next to her, and she immediately pulled herself into his chest.

“Is everything alright?” he asked delicately.

She stared up at the ceiling.

“I’m so fucking selfish. I’ve jeopardized everything, and I just wanted—”

“You aren’t selfish at all,” he insisted. “You gave everything up to save Alex’s life—everything.”

“I’d already _lost_ everything,” she replied, looking into his eyes. “I wasn’t ready to lose you. I just wanted to see you again. That’s it. That’s all I wanted.”

“I know,” he murmured. “That doesn’t make you selfish. He loved you—he would understand that you’d have your own reasons for going back.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do.”

“I appreciate the sentiment but—”

“Valerie, this isn’t an empty platitude. I _do_ know.”

“What?” she asked, tears pooling in her eyes.

“I know that I loved you—that I do love you,” he told her, the words slipping out. “You understand that don’t you?”

She shook her head, confused.

“It’s all in my head, Valerie—each and every detail, even if I can’t pull them all together. It’s me, Valerie—all of those memories—they’re mine.”

“You died, Ben. I held you as you went.”

“I know.” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ears and looked into her eyes. He loved her—he’d spent a lifetime in love with her.

A memory crystallized in his mind as he spoke. He didn’t remember his death, but he remembered the moment he knew he was dying. He was standing in the kitchen—not in the house he knew, but in a new house they’d built for themselves. He’d felt a twinge in his back—the same pain he’d felt nearly forty years earlier.

He had been afraid, at first. He didn’t understand how it could happen, after all these years. And he didn’t want to die.

But despite his unchanged face, he’d grown old. He could feel it—his body was steeped in an aching restlessness and a sort of lethargy that was hard to put into words.

He hadn’t said anything to Val. That evening, as he read on the sofa, with his wife resting against his shoulder, and Vincent—undoubtedly the world’s oldest and most doted on dog—sprawled across his lap, he’d known that it was simply his time to go.

Even the memory of it had brought him some peace. He had been burdened by the perpetual guilt he bore for Alex, but he'd also felt a deep contentment—a settled, steady warmth. His death had not been the passing of a withered and regretful man. He’d been tired, but satisfied, and ready for sleep. 

Valerie’s hand on his arm snapped him back to the present. “Did you just remember something?” she asked, noticing the distance in his eyes.

“The cancer coming back,” he answered solemnly.

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“No—it was a happy memory. Bittersweet, I suppose.”

She smiled wryly. “You _are_ you,” she whispered.

“Yes,” he replied. “I think I am.”


	25. No Other Pearl

**Chapter 25: No Other Pearl**

They returned to the church later that evening. The group had gathered again in the first couple of pews. Kate still hadn’t joined them, but Ben heard Sun assuring Jack that she was starting to come around.

Val’s mood had improved immensely. She'd picked a seat next to Desmond, who had brought Penny and Charlie along. Hugo sat next to Charlie, and was telling him wildly embellished stories about the Island.

“That whole conversation was like non-stop déjà-vu,” Desmond whispered to Valerie. “Her explanation seemed word for word pulled from a memory I didn’t know I had.” He shook his head in awe. “What did she want to talk to you guys about?”

“Time crime,” Valerie whispered, trying to keep a straight face. Desmond snickered in spite of himself, and Ben stifled an involuntary grin.

Eloise nodded to Jack. Jack was now clean shaven, and the purpose seemed to have returned to his eyes. He stood up and took the podium.

“I don’t think anyone else is going to come tonight,” he said, addressing the room. “John was a good man—a leader. He cared about the people we left behind, and he cared about all of us. He deserved better than this. I spoke to him briefly before he passed away—he seemed to know he would die here, but he was certain that we all needed to go back. I doubted him—so many times. But he was right—about the Island—about fate. He’s right about this. I hope, wherever he is, that he’s found some peace.”

He stepped away, and Eloise took his place. “I’m glad you are all here, and I trust that you will be able to collect the rest of the people you need. I wanted to offer a brief thought before you all begin your journey.”

She looked meaningfully at Ben.  
  
“There are many immovable things in this world—fates that cannot be changed. John Locke knew he would die when he left the Island—and die he did.” She took a deep breath before continuing. “I have never been a sentimental person, but, in my life, I have seen only one force capable of thwarting the inevitable—love.”

She glanced briefly at the back of the room, and Ben turned to see what she was looking at. Kate stood in the doorway, listening from a distance.

“I have seen love strong enough to transcend time and space,” she said, shifting her gaze to Desmond and Penny. “I have seen love deep enough to risk losing everything.” She nodded solemnly at Sun, then turned to Jack. “I have witnessed love heal even the harshest wounds, and I have seen proof that love can change the very fabric of the universe.” She rested her eyes on Ben. “It is the greatest leap of faith there is,” she told them. “Wherever your flight may take you, I ask that you remember that.”

Ben noticed Penny squeezing Desmond’s hand. He glanced at Valerie, who winked slyly at him.

“Best of luck,” Eloise told them as she stepped away from the casket. “I’ll see you in the next life.”

***

They had two days to pack and prepare for their trip. Valerie packed her ratty old backpack full of everything useful that could be carried onto the plane—food, camping supplies, and first aid kit.

“I’m sure the Barracks is still there,” Ben assured her.

“Honestly, who the fuck knows,” she replied distractedly, and continued packing.

Ben and Jack prepared the paperwork to transport John’s body on the plane. Jack put a pair of his father’s tennis shoes in the coffin, offering Ben no explanation. Ben suspected he’d spoken to Eloise before the funeral—it seemed like the sort of thing she’d think was important.

As the hours ticked past, Ben became increasingly anxious about Alex. He’d been harboring a fear—ever since he’d realized that there was some degree of course correction occurring—that Alex would have died in spite of their efforts, and that he wouldn’t have been there to stop it.

He didn’t mention this to Valerie, but he didn’t have to. She knew that it was a possibility—he could see it in the way she looked at him whenever they talked about the people who had died. There wasn’t anything either of them could do about from here. His only focus was getting back—they’d worry about the rest later.

They arrived at the airport a couple of hours early and intercepted Sayid as he stepped off his flight from London.

“I should have known you two would be involved,” Sayid remarked sardonically. “What are you doing here?”

Valerie wordlessly handed him his ticket.

“Why on earth would I go to Guam?”

“Walk with us to the gate, Sayid,” Ben cajoled. “Humor me.”

Sayid was too tired to argue, and he let Ben lead the way to the boarding area for Ajira 316.

Sayid noticed his friends waiting for the same flight. They immediately jumped up to greet him.

“We’re going back, aren’t we?” Sayid asked Jack dejectedly.

“We are.”

Sayid sighed, already resigned to the situation.

“You’re welcome, by the way,” Ben told him.

“For the reunion?”

“For getting you out of jail. Why a smart man like you would pick up a murder weapon at a crime scene is beyond me, really, Sayid, but we know you didn’t kill Widmore.”

“I _would_ have killed him,” Sayid replied in hushed tones. “I would have done it myself if he hadn’t already been dead. I wanted revenge for what he did to Nadia—he was a cruel man.”

Ben nodded in agreement.

“So you did it, then?” Sayid pressed.

“She did,” he replied, gesturing at Valerie.

Sayid raised his eyebrows and frowned slightly, obviously surprised to learn that Val had it in her.

“She also compiled the evidence exonerating you to send to your lawyers," Ben explained. “Turns out she is actually quite good.” 

The mention of lawyers caught Kate’s attention. She was struck by a sudden realization. “Was it you?” She demanded, getting up from her seat. “Did _you_ take Aaron?”

Valerie nodded calmly. “I’m sorry, Kate. I really am. You had to be on this flight. You have to go back. We had to make sure he was safe with his grandmother, but we couldn’t tell you why. This doesn’t need to be a one-way trip. Bring Claire home with you. You can take care of them both—she’ll need you.”

Kate shook her head in disbelief and sat back down. “You’re a horrible person,” she muttered.

Ben opened his mouth to argue, but Valerie touched his arm and shook her head. “It’s alright,” she told him. “She has every right to be mad.”

Jack stared at Valerie, suddenly putting things together in his mind. He’d been too distracted by his newfound purpose to think too much about the inconsistencies in the stories he’d been given, and he was realizing that he was missing pieces of the puzzle.

“Are you going to tell us who Valerie really is, Ben?” Jack asked finally, loud enough for the rest of them to hear. “Eloise didn’t seem pleased that she’d joined us.”

Desmond stood up and placed himself between Jack and Valerie, sensing Jack’s agitation.

“First, she was sent to help with his tumor,” Jack said, turning to Desmond. “Then she was sent to protect his daughter—who sent her?”

Desmond shot Ben a look.

“Was it Jacob?” Jack continued, turning back to Ben. “Or was Jacob just a fiction that Locke fooled himself into believing?”

Ben glanced at Valerie.

She shrugged. “Just tell them. Sun already knows—I think the cat is out of the bag.”

“She’s my future wife, Jack,” Ben answered cryptically.

“So—what, you’re engaged?” Jack replied, incredulous.

“Oh, congrats dude!” Hurley added earnestly.

“No, Jack, she’s my _future_ wife.”

Jack frowned. “You’re not saying she’s a time traveler, are you?”

“Would that really shock you at this point?”

Jack shook his head. “You’re serious?”

Valerie nodded. “I came back for Alex—helping with the tumor was a pretense.”

“Wait, wait,” Hurley interrupted, “how does that work? So—Val, do you know what’s going to happen to all of us? Is it like a Back to the Future situation or a Twelve Monkeys situation?”

The stewardess announced the first boarding call before she could answer.

“We can talk more on the Island, Hurley,” she said, pulling out her boarding pass. “We’ll have plenty of time.”

On the plane, Valerie wrapped herself in a blanket and lifted the armrest that separated herself from Ben. She held onto his arm, leaned against his shoulder, and closed her eyes.

Ben watched, amused, as Jack realized that Frank Lapidus was piloting the plane, and Frank realized that their destination was not going to be Guam. Jack took his seat in front of Hugo, across the aisle from Ben.

Ben nodded at Jack and glanced at Hugo, who was nervously trying to read a comic book. Hugo flashed him a quick grin.

“How can she sleep?” Hugo asked.

Ben shook his head. “I have no idea, Hugo. But it certainly beats worrying.”

He smiled a little to himself and cracked open the copy of _Les Misérables_ that he’d picked up in Heathrow when they were leaving London. He had a small collection of books to work through. He’d been reading a lot lately—all those days of travelling—those days of waiting for Valerie to return—it had left him with too many hours to be alone with his own thoughts.

He’d waited a while before turning to this novel. He’d always found the end of the book a bit reductive, it being centered around romantic love—and young love at that.

He’d never understood why such a grim and introspective story would end on such a simple note.

But he was not the man he used to be. Love, he’d learned, casts every previous infatuation in a dull and colorless light. He glanced down at Val—already asleep but still clinging to his arm. The joy she could bring him with that single, thoughtless gesture surpassed any previous moments of happiness he’d experienced by orders of magnitude.

Now, he understood it perfectly.

***

On Ben’s fifty-first birthday, Val had convinced him to take the _Rabbit_ out with her for an afternoon. They’d dropped anchor in a quiet little bay that was too overrun with bramble to have a beach and eaten the snacks that Valerie had packed.

“Let’s go _swimming_ ,” she told him, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Valerie, the water is freezing.”

She flashed him a devious smirk and started peeling off her pants. She’d taken it as challenge.

She pulled off her knit sweater, tossed it at him, and marched to the bow of the boat. She stood there in nothing but her black underwear and looked back at him with a raised eyebrow.

“I’m not letting you pull me in this year,” he called out at her, staying safely out of reach.

“That’s alright,” she replied, and dove in.

He shook his head and started making his way below deck.

“Holy _fuck_ it’s cold!” her heard her shout.

He pulled a towel and a blanket out of storage and came back up the stairs. She was clinging to the ladder, shivering. Her lips were already blue.

“Come on,” he called out patiently, holding the towel out for her. She rushed up the ladder and over to him, gratefully accepting the towel. Her teeth were chattering.

“You were right,” she conceded, drying herself off. “Too cold.”

He picked up the blanket and draped it over her shoulders. She sank into his chest with a grateful sigh, and he wrapped his arms around her, letting his chin rest on her cold, wet hair.

There was an easy contentment that came with holding her like this—the sense that she trusted him to keep her safe, the simple joy in the way she leaned into him. This was _love_ , he realized. He loved her.

The words had always been hard for him. He had not felt much love in his life. He had always been hesitant to assign the label to feelings better described as affection or infatuation.

He loved Valerie.

He felt the words pool in his mouth, but he could not quite bring himself to say them. They were too unfamiliar—he wasn’t sure how they would sound. He held her tighter, and he let out an audible sigh.

He gathered the courage later that night, when they were alone in the dark.

“Val,” he whispered, with a hint of urgency. She didn’t reply right away. He wondered if she was still awake.

“Mm?” she mustered, after a few moments.

“I love you.”

“I know,” she mumbled into her pillow. “I love you too. Go to sleep.”


	26. Ghost Town

**Chapter 26: Ghost Town**

Hours into the flight, the plane started rattling violently. The fasten seatbelt sign went on, and bags started to tumble out of the overhead compartments.

Valerie yawned, waking up. “Hold on tight,” she said, slipping her hand into Ben’s. She could tell that he was nervous. “No one likes a plane crash,” she reassured him. He squeezed her hand.

The rattling of the plane was suddenly overwhelmed by a high-pitched buzz, and the cabin was consumed in a bright white light.

Valerie stayed conscious for most of the crash. The plane banked wildly around, and all of the cabin lights went out. The descent was steep and unsteady, and the impact as they skidded to a stop was concussive and disorienting.

When she gathered herself, Ben was slumped over next to her, bloodied from a cut on his head.

“Ben,” she said, nudging his shoulder.

He didn’t respond.

“Linus,” she said urgently, unbuckling his seatbelt. She pressed her fingers to his neck to check for a pulse, but she was too shaky to feel anything.

“Ben you better wake up, or I swear to _god_ I will fucking kill you myself.”

His eyes blinked open. “What happened,” he mumbled.

“We have to get up,” she told him, lifting him up by the armpits. He pulled himself to his feet and shook his head.

“I’m fine,” he told her. “Just knocked out for a moment. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine—a little shaken.”

They heard groans from the rows ahead of them.

Valerie grabbed her backpack.

“Sun?” a voice called from the front of the plane.

“Frank?” she heard Sun reply.

“Where's everyone else? Jack and Kate and Hurley—where'd they go?”

“They’re gone,” Ben answered. Both Sun and Frank were startled to see him. Valerie stepped into the light behind him.

“Where did they go?” Sun asked Ben, alarmed.

Ben shook his head in confusion and turned to Valerie.

“We’ve got to get off the plane,” Valerie answered. “Where’s Desmond? Did he get sent back with them?”

“Sent back?” Sun asked.

“I’m here,” Desmond announced, pulling himself from his seat. “Let’s not do that again.”

“Good,” she said, “let’s go.” She motioned to Frank who opened the emergency exit. “What about the other passengers?” Frank asked.

“They’ll be fine. There’s no time.”

Ben trotted down the stairs, Valerie and Desmond following quickly behind him. Sun helped Frank, who had been injured in the crash.

They walked away from the crash site as quickly as they could.

“Nineteen seventy-seven,” Valerie said, once they were alone.

“What?” Ben asked.

“That’s where they went.”

“The _year_ nineteen seventy-seven?” Desmond asked, incredulous.

She nodded.

Ben frowned at her. “Why?”

“I don’t know _why_. It’ll be fine though. They’re going to try to stop the Incident—the thing with Swan station—but they’re going to _cause_ the Incident. And then they’ll be back. The others will be with them”

“You could have stopped them!” Sun exclaimed.

“Stopping them would have been catastrophic. If they’d known exactly what had happened in the past, they could change it. Not knowing was absolutely essential.”

“Why not let them change it? Could it have stopped the plane from crashing?” Frank asked. “Your plane, I mean?”

“What do you mean the others will be back with them?” Sun said quietly.

“The rest of the survivors are there too—your husband among them. They’re living with the DHARMA initiative.”

“Is Alex there?” Ben asked suddenly.

Valerie shrugged. “She could be.”

“You knew she might be stuck in the past? You didn’t think to mention that?”

“I mean, I knew it was possible—but it’s fine. She should be alright. Wherever she is, she’s with her mother.”

Ben shot Valerie an irritated look. “Fine—we can discuss that later. Right now, we need to regain control of this situation.”

“We need some fucking guns,” Valerie said, taking off towards Hydra station. “And we need to get back to the Barracks.”

“Why do we need guns?” Frank asked suspiciously.

“Just—trust me.”

“Your wife is terrifying,” Frank muttered to Ben.

“I know,” Ben replied appreciatively.

They followed Valerie through the woods and into the Hydra station offices. Ben was happy to let her lead the way—it gave him a strange sense of pride to watch her take charge.

“I don’t actually know where anything is in here,” she admitted once they’d made their way into the main part of the structure.

“The armory is down that hall,” Ben told Desmond. “There’s not that much there, but it should be enough.”

Desmond trotted off down the hallway.

Sun took a seat with Frank.

“We’ll be back,” Ben told them. He led Valerie to his office and closed the door.

“You could have told me where she was,” he chastised.

“I don’t know if she’s with them,” Valerie reminded him. “I didn’t want you to worry. There was nothing you could have done about it from L.A.”

“Is there anything we can do about it from here?”

“Other than wait? Not really.”

“Are you going to tell me why we need guns?”

“Just a precaution. I’m not sure who we can trust. We don’t have to worry about Charles, but…” she trailed off.

He pried open his locked desk drawer and pulled out a handgun, checking to see if it was loaded. He tossed it to her and continued looking through the drawers.

She dug around in her backpack and pulled out a thigh holster. She strapped it on over her black pants, looped the clasp over her belt, and holstered the handgun.

He raised his eyebrows.

“I was thinking ahead,” she explained innocently.

He found what he was looking for—a framed photo of him with Alex—and wordlessly handed it to Valerie.

She smiled at it. “Want me to hold on to this for you?”

“Please.”

“Of course,” she agreed, placing the framed photo in her bag.

He watched as she looked around the office. “You know, I never saw it like this,” she told him. “You guys had cleaned out Hydra before I arrived. This room is kind of depressing.”

It was, admittedly, a gloomy looking place. The décor was a bit macabre—though the fact that the only functional light was his desk lamp didn’t help.

“Like, why the fuck do you have a stuffed pheasant? And what kind of skull is that?”

“A tiger, I think?”

“The taxidermy vibes are very creepy, honey,” she told him sincerely, “even for you.”

“We can redecorate later,” he suggested, pulling the shotgun out from under his desk.

“Well, that’s more like it. Do you have any knives? I want a knife.”

He pointed at a glass cabinet near the door.

She selected a long dagger from his neatly displayed collection and tested its weight in her hand. Satisfied, she sheathed it and tucked it into the strap around her thigh.

She threw the backpack over her shoulder and he took a moment to look at her. It was strange, he knew, to be distracted by her beauty at this particular moment—but as she stood in front of him, armed to the teeth with that serious look on her face, he was certain that he’d never been more in love.

“Valerie,” he said urgently.

She raised her eyebrows at him.

He wanted to tell her everything he was feeling—that he loved her, that he was terrified things would not go their way—that Alex was already dead, and that it will all have been his fault, again.

“I—" he began, hesitating. He couldn’t quite find the words.

Before he could finish his sentence, she pulled him into a deep kiss, running her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck.

“It’s going to be okay,” she murmured reassuringly as she pulled away. “We’ll find her.”

He smiled to himself. He hadn’t needed to say anything at all.

They reunited with Frank and Sun just as Desmond was returning from the armory with a duffel bag. “I think we’re all set,” Desmond told them.

“We’d better get going then.”

“Where are we going?” Sun asked.

“We’re going to find a boat—then we’re going home.”

Ben led the group to the beach that faced the main island and they walked in the sand until they found the outrigger canoes, hidden by a dirty tarp.

He looked back at them—there were too many people to take just one canoe

“Desmond, would you take Frank and Sun? Val and I will take the other.”

“Should we try to take all three?” Desmond asked. “It might slow them down?”

Ben looked out at the water—it was choppier than usual. “I’m not sure we should risk it. Let’s just push the third one out to sea.”

“Alright,” he agreed, and Ben helped him launch it into the water.

They loaded their weapons into the outriggers, climbed in and pushed off towards the main island.

“It’s good to be back,” Val told him, looking over her shoulder as she rowed.

“I suppose it is,” he replied, though he wasn’t sure he agreed. Something felt off about the place—though he couldn’t put his finger on what.

It was dark by the time that Ajira 316 passengers began to congregate on the beach of Hydra island, and the boats were far enough away that they were unlikely to be seen.

They docked in the Barracks’ harbor and tied up the outriggers. As they walked back up to the houses, Ben found himself unsettled by the obvious lack of activity.

He’d sent his people to the Temple when the mercenaries arrived, but he hadn’t anticipated that they would stay there indefinitely. The Barracks could easily be restored to its previous state—it provided far more in the way of amenities, and it was the place that most of them had called home for the last couple of decades. It seemed strange to him that they would not want to return.

“Are they all in seventy-seven?” he whispered to Valerie.

“I don’t think so. Maybe they never came back from the Temple?” she suggested.

It was a possibility. There had always been a faction who had preferred the way that they lived before they’d taken over the DHARMA houses. But they’d been in the minority, as far as he was aware. Most people preferred electricity and running water.

“Are we almost there?” Frank asked. “I’m about ready for a break.”

“Just over this hill,” Ben answered, then stopped in his tracks, holding his arm out in front of Valerie.

“What is it?” Sun whispered.

Ben turned around slowly. “There’s someone home.”


	27. Where the Heart Is

**Chapter 27: Where the Heart Is**

A light was on in the window of Ben’s house. Valerie slowly drew her gun. “Just in case,” she murmured.

Desmond turned off the flashlight and handed it to Frank.

“Slowly and quietly,” Ben instructed. “Sun, why don’t you stay here with Frank.”

Desmond unzipped the duffel bag, taking a rifle for himself. “Take your pick,” he told Sun, gesturing at the open bag. She frowned at him and selected a small handgun.

“Just in case,” she said, repeating Valerie’s words.

Ben led the way across the green to his house, shotgun at the ready.

At the door, he hesitated.

“Should we knock?” Valerie mouthed.

Ben peered into the window but couldn’t make anything out. He shrugged at Desmond.

“Fuck it,” Desmond said and rapped decisively on the door.

They stood with their backs against the wall, weapons drawn.

“What the fuck was that?” a woman’s voice asked from inside.

“Shit,” another woman said.

“Who’s there?” a man’s voice asked through the door.

“I should be the one asking that,” Ben replied, “since you’re in _my_ house.”

“Dad?”

Alex burst through the door.

The shotgun fell from Ben’s hands and he threw his arms around her.

“Alex,” he croaked. He held her as close as he could.

“Sun, Frank, it’s alright,” Valerie shouted at the woods. “It’s Alex!”

They trudged up the path, Frank carrying the flashlight and Sun toting the bag of guns.

Alex pulled away from the hug and looked at her father’s face, only to draw him back into another.

“I missed you so much,” she told him.

He felt the tears in his eyes. “Alex, you have no idea how happy I am to see you.”

“Come inside,” she said. “All of you, please.”

She led them into the kitchen. Karl stood in the corner, a stunned expression on his face.

“Claire, is that you?” Sun asked, rushing over to the blonde woman sitting at the kitchen table.

“Sun? What are you doing here? You left—you were free!”

“I came back,” she replied. “Is Jin here?”

Claire shook her head, pulling Sun into a hug. “They all disappeared—I’m the only one left.”

“Aaron is with your mother,” Sun told her hurriedly. “Kate took care of him.”

“Oh,” Claire cried, and fell back into Sun’s arms. “Have you seen him?”

“He’s perfect,” Sun replied, nodding. “I hope he’ll meet my daughter one day.”

They continued talking rapidly about all that had happened off the Island—and everything that had happened to Claire.

Ben locked eyes with Val as Alex hugged her. The reunion seemed to make Valerie almost as emotional as it had made him.

“Where’s your mother?” he asked Alex gently.

She shook her head sadly. “She disappeared with the rest of them.”

“I’m so sorry sweetheart,” he told her, pulling her into another tight embrace. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t here.”

“I know dad—I know you had to leave.”

He kissed the top of her head.

He turned to Karl. “Thank you for taking care of her,” he said, offering his hand. Karl ignored the extended hand and gave Ben a hug instead.

“She was taking care of me most of the time,” he said. “It’s good to see you Mr. Linus.”

“Please Karl, if you’re going to live with my daughter, I insist you call me Ben.”

Karl grinned at him.

Despite their exhaustion, it was impossible for any of them to sleep before catching up. They listened intently as Alex and Karl explained how they split from the rest of the Others and found Claire alone in the jungle.

Claire had, apparently, been in a bit of a state—but Alex and Karl’s diligent care had pulled her out of it. They’d been sharing the house for more than a year now, with Claire in the spare bedroom, and Alex and Karl sharing the room Alex had grown up in.

Ben raised an eyebrow. “You two lovebirds didn’t take the master bedroom?” he joked.

Alex rolled her eyes. “I knew you were coming back. It would have been weird to sleep there.”

He squeezed her shoulder, unable to contain the smile on his face.

“Why did it take you so long—where were you?” she asked. “What were you doing?”

He glanced at Valerie. “It’s a long story,” he said to Alex. “Why don’t we continue this conversation tomorrow?”

“Alright, I guess,” she agreed.

“I think we should all stay here,” Sun suggested. “Until we know what we’re dealing with.”

“Agreed,” Desmond said, “assuming our hosts don’t mind.”

“Of course not,” Alex replied, and started assigning rooms. “Dad, you can have your room,” she instructed. “Claire, would you mind sharing with Sun?”

Claire shrugged happily. “Sure.”

She turned to Frank and Desmond. “There are couches in the living room and dad’s office—you guys can sort that out, though the office couch has always kind of been Valerie’s.”

Valerie shot Ben a look as the group dispersed.

“Alex—Valerie can stay in my room.”

“I mean, if you’d prefer a couch, dad, be my guest,” Alex replied obliviously.

“No, sweetheart, Val and I are—we’ve been—we’re going to sleep in the same room.”

“Oh!” she said, realizing what he was telling her. “Oh. Oh my god.”

Valerie started laughing. 

“Jesus Christ,” Ben said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Holy fuck, I knew it—I knew you had a thing for her.”

“Language, Alexandra.”

“Dad, I’m almost twenty.”

“Duly noted,” he replied with a smirk and pulled her into another hug.

“You’re fucking my _dad_?” Alex mouthed to Valerie over Ben’s shoulder.

Val nodded, stifling her laughter.

“Alex, language.”

“I have _so_ many questions,” she told him, “but I’ll let you sleep—or do whatever.”

“Alex!” Ben exclaimed

Val started laughing again.

“Goodnight,” she told them, smiling broadly. “Welcome home.”

Ben ushered Valerie into his room and closed the door. “She’s alive,” he whispered to her, still a bit incredulous. “She’s alright.”

Valerie nodded and wrapped her arms around him, squeezing her body against his as tightly as she could.

They undressed and shook the dust off the sheets before climbing into the bed. Valerie let out a satisfied sigh as she eased into the mattress. “Home sweet home,” she murmured.

“I love you,” he said suddenly—the words coming more easily than they ever had. “I love you, Valerie,” he repeated.

She beamed at him, her face illuminated by the blue moonlight pouring in through his window. “I know,” she said, leaning over to kiss him. “I love you too.”

His head was flooded with dreams that night—memories that remained alive in tangible fragments the next morning.

He remembered marrying her—remembered Hugo’s knowing smile as he had spoken the vows that he’d spent weeks writing. He remembered aiming a rifle at a curly haired woman that he was sure he’d seen on Ajira 316—a tearful, sincere apology on his tongue. He remembered bringing Walt home to the Island—the look on his face when he’d seen Vincent again. And he remembered shooting Charles Widmore twice in the chest.

“Val,” he said, nudging her awake. “It’s coming back—so much of it.”

“What?”

“I’m remembering.”

She smiled at him. “Good memories, I hope?”

“Mostly,” he answered, giving her a quick kiss.

“God it’s strange to wake up in this room again,” she observed, pulling herself up. “Should we make some breakfast?”

Alex had been collecting the food drops and storing as much as she could in the house. They’d moved freezers from other houses into the living room for convenience. They’d also been keeping chickens and growing vegetables. It was more than enough to work with.

Valerie got started at the stove, and Ben set the table up for the eight of them.

Desmond smelled the bacon frying and wandered into the kitchen.

“Sunny-side up?” Valerie asked him, already knowing the answer.

“Yes please.”

“Frank, how do you like your eggs?” she called into the living room.

“Scrambled,” he answered groggily.

“Who _prefers_ scrambled?”

“They’re ready the fastest.”

“He has a point,” Desmond said, filching a piece of bacon.

Ben absently kissed the back of Valerie’s head as he stepped behind her. Alex walked into the kitchen just in time to notice.

“Over easy for Alex,” Ben told Valerie.

“Over easy for Alex,” she repeated.

“Good choice,” she told Alex with a wink. “Same for Karl?”

“No, he likes his eggs cooked all the way through—I know it’s an atrocity, but I’ve never been able to convince him that he’s wrong.”

Valerie laughed. “Atrociously overcooked eggs, coming right up.”

Alex grinned at her and turned back to Ben. “Did you want to finish that conversation, dad?”

He looked over at Valerie and she nodded. “I’ll call you when it’s ready,” she told them.

They stepped out onto the front porch.

“You seem happy,” she told him.

“I could say the same to you.”

She stared out at the deserted houses—still damaged from the mercenary attack three years earlier. “I mean—it’s been strange. But I am, I think.”

“You haven’t been alone,” he noted. “That makes a big difference.”

“Neither have you,” she pointed out, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s complicated,” he told her.

“Do you love her?”

“I do,” he answered solemnly.

“Then it’s not complicated.”

He smiled at her. She was still so young, but she was wise beyond her years. He was so proud to see the way that she’d taken control of things here. She’d always been brave, but he was impressed by the sheer magnitude of her competence.

“I’m so sorry, Alex. I wanted a better life for you than this.” He gestured out at the destruction.

“There’s still time,” she said with a grin. “Besides, it could be a lot worse.”

“That’s true,” he agreed.

“So, are you going to tell me what you’ve been up to for the last three years?”

He didn’t really want to tell her about the people Valerie had killed—she didn’t need to hear about all that unpleasantness. He told Alex about their travels, but he focused more on the places they went than the specifics of the business they had conducted. He told her about the Oceanic Six—what had happened to them, and how he and Valerie had found Desmond and convinced everyone to come back.

She wanted to know about how he’d fallen in love with Val. He didn’t want to tell Alex the truth about who Valerie was and why she’d come back—not yet. He still felt so much shame for what he had done to her—even with her sitting next to him, alive and smiling.

Instead, he told her that after pretending to be married for so long, he’d grown rather fond of Val, and when pretending wasn’t necessary anymore, he’d asked her if she’d want to continue wearing the rings anyway, and she’d said yes. It wasn’t the whole truth, but it wasn’t a lie either.

“That sounds like the PG version,” she told him.

“It most certainly does,” he replied. “You’re still my daughter, after all. You don’t actually want _those_ details.”

“Oh my god, no,” she laughed. “Gross.”

The window next to them opened. “Food’s ready,” Valerie announced.

They decided that they’d stay at the Barracks until they had a better sense of what was going on. As the group sorted through the abandoned houses, Valerie quietly suggested to Ben that they ought to make sure that the sonic fence was active.

They took a hike to the edge of their territory to check on it. Ben entered several codes into the keypad, and the familiar whirring noise roared to life.

Valerie exhaled.

“Do you think that’s going to work?” he asked her

“I hope so.”

They started walking back towards the Barracks, the comforting hum of the fence fading into the distance.

He took her hand as they approached the houses.

He opened his mouth to speak—but was interrupted by was a deep rumbling and a brief flash of white light.

“What was that?” Ben asked, alarmed.

She looked at him sharply. “I think they’re back.”


	28. The Shadow and the Soul

**Chapter 28: The Shadow and the Soul**

Valerie woke up and found the space next to her empty. They’d given up the pretense of separate houses months ago, and she’d happily moved all of her things back across the green to his place.

It had been blissful for quite a while, but he’d been distant lately—she’d noticed him retreating into his own thoughts more frequently. He’d always been introspective, but this was a bit different. He seemed on edge.

She got up and threw on one of his white t-shirts and a pair of her own worn out grey sweatpants. She poked around the house for a minute, but it was empty.

She knew instinctively where he’d gone—he’d gone where he always went when he needed to think things through in the middle of the night.

She found him there—just where she’d found him nearly a year ago.

He smiled wryly when he saw her.

“What?” she asked.

“I was just thinking that I should have left you a note—so that you’d know where I’d gone.”

“I knew right away,” she told him with a laugh. She dropped down next to him and tossed a stick onto the fire he’d lit. “What’s on your mind?”

His brows shot up and he pursed his lips as he considered how to answer.

“I _really_ love you,” he said finally, as if still surprised by the fact.

“I really love you too,” she replied, “you do know that, right?”

He nodded, fidgeting with his hands.

She realized he was holding something between his fingers. He noticed her squinting at it.

“I forgot that I had this—I found it quite accidentally.” He held it out for her to see.

It was a simple diamond ring with a worn silver band.

“I think I am beginning to understand what happened to my father.”

It was his mother’s engagement ring, she realized, suddenly understanding where his mind had been for the last couple of weeks.

“He adored her.” Ben looked at her, frowning deeply. He bit his cheek and turned back to the ocean. “Losing her destroyed him. I resented him for it—resented his distance, his relentless misery, his inability to care for his own child.”

She put her hand on his forearm.

“I wonder what difference it would have made had I tried to engage with him—tried to forgive him.”

“Ben,” she said softly, “you were a child—his _son_. Your mother’s death explained his behavior—it didn’t excuse it.”

“I killed the man, Valerie.”

She nodded somberly. “I know.”

“And I’m not sure I’d have fared any better than he did.”

“You won’t have to find out,” she said reassuringly.

He took her hand and looked at her intently.

There was a deep sadness in his eyes, underlaid by a hopeful sincerity. She knew exactly what he was struggling to do.

“You have to _ask_ ,” she told him through a smile, her eyes fixed on his.

“Do you want me to?”

She nodded.

“Marry me,” he said simply.

“That wasn’t a question,” she chided gently.

He raised an eyebrow and thought for a moment before starting over.

“I’d long since given up on ever knowing this kind of love,” he began. “I had resigned myself—quite happily—to growing old and dying alone. It’s a far lesser penance than I deserve. And then you—”

He thumbed the ring, staring at it.

“—you just _loved_ me. You loved me in spite of my unkindness, and once you peeled that armor away, you loved me in spite of the man you found underneath. That knowledge feels like nothing I’ve ever known—to know what it is to be loved by someone who sees through your hideousness and forgives it—accepts it.”

She felt the tears rising up through her chest. She swallowed firmly.

“I don’t really think there’s anything special about marriage. I don’t want to make you _mine_ —I’ve never wanted that. I just want to make a promise to spend the rest of my life trying to be deserving of the love you have given me.”

She couldn’t stop her eyes from watering.

“Will you do me that honor, Val?”

She nodded, smiling wryly through her tears.

He slid the ring on to her finger and closed his fist around hers.

They held each other close for a while, staring out at the black midnight ocean in contented silence.

“We probably ought to head home,” Ben suggested.

“Or,” Valerie replied, an eyebrow raised suggestively, “we could stay here.”

“Oh,” he said, tilting his head in surprise. “I suppose we could.”

***

Ben and Valerie hurried back to the house from the fence line.

“What the hell was that?” Frank asked.

“That was what happened when they disappeared,” Alex said.

“Does that mean they’re back?” Sun asked urgently.

Alex shrugged.

Ben pulled Valerie into his office. “What’s going to happen next?” he asked in hushed tones, glancing nervously through the doorway at Alex.

“No idea.”

“Should we leave? Go looking for them?”

“We shouldn’t decide,” Valerie murmured to Ben. “We have to try to remember what Eloise told us to do—we know too much.” She stepped back into the kitchen. “Alex, what do you want to do?”

Alex didn’t need time to think. “Stay here—we’re safe here. We’ve got plenty of supplies.”

“Sound good?” Valerie asked the group.

“What about our friends?” Claire asked, putting her hand on Sun’s shoulder.

“Let’s give it a day,” Alex suggested. “They’ll probably either come here or go to their old beach camp. If no one shows up tomorrow, we’ll go looking.”

Sun nodded, biting her lip.

By evening the next day, the group had grown impatient. They all sat together on the porch, staring out at the brilliant red sunset.

“I want to go out there,” Sun told Alex.

“Give it time,” Alex cautioned. “If that was them, they could have arrived anywhere on the Island.”

“It was them,” Sun told her.

“How do you know that?” Alex asked, frowning.

“Valerie explained that—”

Ben shot Sun a sharp look, and she stopped talking.

“Dad,” Alex asked sternly, raising her eyebrows, “what was that about?”

He sighed. It wasn’t a conversation that he wanted to have, but if he’d learned anything, it was that keeping things from his daughter was a mistake. “Val,” he said, turning to his wife, “I think we need to tell her.”

“Tell me _what?”_

“Is anyone there?” a voice boomed from across the green, interrupting the conversation.

Three figures were walking towards them.

“Is that Sawyer?” Valerie exclaimed.

She walked out towards the group, followed by Sun and Desmond.

Sun let out a small cry and started running. One of the figures stopped in his tracks and dropped to his knees. Sun fell into his arms. Valerie watched on as they reunited, tearing up a little at their palpable joy.

The other two figures were Sawyer and Miles, both wearing DHARMA jumpsuits and looking worse for wear.

“Wednesday,” Sawyer said wearily as he recognized her, “Nice haircut.”

“Nice man bun,” she shot back, immediately noticing the raw grief in his eyes.

She looked at Miles, concerned.

“We lost Juliet,” he told her. “She and James were—it happened yesterday. They were trying to…” he trailed off.

“Shit,” Valerie replied, shaking her head. She rushed over to comfort Sawyer.

“Jack told us what happened,” Miles said to the group. “He said you all had to come back—and Valerie is from the future? Hurley was dying for an explanation. I’d say that you’d never guess where we were, but—”

“We know,” Frank told him. “The seventies.”

“Yeah. The seventies. For three psychedelic years.” He turned to Ben. “And Sayid tried to kill you—kid you.”

Ben blinked. “Why?”

“He seemed a bit off the deep end—he wanted to find Charles Widmore. Kid you let him out of DHARMA jail—and he got some ideas.”

“Where is everyone else?” Claire asked.

“John Locke found us—only, I don’t think it was really him.” Miles explained. “James didn’t either. Jin knew Sun was here somewhere—Jack said she had come back with him. We took off saying we’d go looking for her and bring her back. He wanted us to bring Desmond back too.”

“You left the others with him?”

“Hugo took Sayid to the Temple. Kate and Jack went with John Locke and Richard Alpert to meet Jacob.”

Ben looked at Valerie inquisitively.

She shrugged. “I don’t know what it means.”

“Alright,” Ben mused, sighing. “Does _Jack_ believe that John has been resurrected?”

“I don’t know,” Miles answered. “I think he’s suspicious—but you know Jack—he blames himself for John’s death. And John was the one who believed in all the fate stuff—Jack regrets not trusting him. He might be overcompensating.”

“Is the fence still working? How did you get in?”

“Oh, it’s working alright. We went over it.”

Alex had been gaping at Miles since he started speaking. “I’m sorry,” she interjected, grabbing him by the forearm, “did you say Valerie is from the _future_?”

Miles made a face at Ben, who put his hand on Valerie’s waist.

“Dad?”

He looked at Valerie. “Do you want to explain, or should I?”

Alex shook her head in confusion.

“Alex,” Valerie began carefully, “do you remember when you guessed that someone I loved had died?”

She nodded mutely.

“And I told you that your dad reminded me of that person?”

Alex nodded again. Karl came up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders.

“That wasn’t _entirely_ true. The man I loved _was_ your dad—I met him when my sailboat wrecked on the Island—seven years from now.”

Alex pulled her hair away from her face and blinked deliberately.

Valerie glanced at Ben before continuing. “We really were married—for quite a while—then the tumor on his spine came back, and he died.”

“So—what? You came back in time to save him? Make sure the surgery happened?”

“No, Alex,” Ben explained, “she came back to save _you_.”

“Me? Save me from what?”

“You were killed by the men that Charles Widmore sent to the Island,” he answered, his voice wavering. “I watched you die in front of me. It was my fault.” He started to choke up. “I had a chance to save you, Alexandra. But I chose the Island over you—I chose myself.”

“It ate away at him for the rest of his life,” Valerie continued. “He would have given anything to undo what he had done. We had the means—we had to try.”

Alex burst into tears and threw her arms around Ben. He couldn’t stop himself from crying into her shoulder. “I’m so sorry,” he rasped. “I’m so, so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she sobbed. “I’m okay. I love you.”

Valerie wiped her tears away with the back of her hand.

Sawyer was struggling to stifle his own tears as Jin and Sun joined them, hand in hand, beaming into each other’s faces.

The mood grew somber as the conversation turned to the people who they’d lost. Most of the other survivors had died while time was skipping. Rousseau, Ethan, and Charlotte Lewis had died from time sickness. Daniel Faraday had been shot by his own mother. Juliet had died trying to change the future.

“She said ‘it worked,’ apparently,” Sawyer said, slapping Miles on the shoulder. “Maybe there’s a universe out there where the plane didn’t crash.”

Valerie nodded grimly, fairly certain that there wasn’t.

In spite of the circumstances, they managed to find joy in the midst of their grief. Sawyer was relieved to see Claire, Miles was happy to see Frank, and everyone was uplifted by the sight of Jin smiling as Sun told him about their daughter.

They had all found each other again—and that was enough to soothe the sadness and fear they each felt, if only for a night.

“This feels like the calm before the storm,” Ben noted quietly as they retired for the evening.

Valerie nodded slowly, a pensive look on her face. “I think he’s going to use Jack to kill Jacob—not you.”

“Course correction,” Ben agreed.

She looked into his eyes, grazing her fingers through the graying hair at his temples. She started to speak but stopped herself, kissing him instead.

He ran his hands under her tank top, feeling her soft skin as he pulled it over her head. She unbuttoned his shirt and pushed it over his arms, their bare chests colliding as she pressed him against the wall. There was nothing new about the sensation—not anymore—but it still left him breathless and shuddering.

He clung to her body as they tumbled into bed. There was something desperate in the way that she kissed him—a purposefulness that only intensified his desire. He was still surprised by how much he loved her—he’d spent so much of his life unaware that it was possible to feel anything so honestly. He let that bliss consume him as he held her, undeterred by the looming shadow of the chaos to come.


	29. What We Die For/Epilogue: A Far Better Rest

**Chapter 29: What We Die For**

The group spent the next few days at the Barracks preparing for a confrontation with the man who had taken John Locke’s body. They didn’t know what was coming exactly—or when—but they knew that they were in for a fight.

Valerie explained what she could—she was careful not to say too much, but she genuinely didn’t have much in the way of answers. The black smoke was a person, but she didn’t really know how that was possible. All she knew was that he wanted to break free of the Island by destroying it, and that it was possible for him to be killed.

“We have to turn off the Island,” Desmond explained.

“Turn it off?” Sawyer asked.

“All this energy—at the Swan and the Orchid. It has a source. It’s why I’m here—I’m immune to it. I’m the only one who can do it. If it’s off—he’s just a man. That’s how he can be killed.”

“How can you know that?” Sawyer asked. “You from the future too, Braveheart?”

“I remember it, in a way,” Desmond replied, frowning.

“Desmond is kind of unstuck from time. It’s what makes him so special,” Valerie explained. “Time isn’t exactly a straight line to him. And he can—evidently—bounce _between_ lines a little.”

“Oh, well that explains it,” Sawyer snapped sarcastically.

“If it makes you feel any better, I don’t understand it either,” Desmond offered.

“That makes me feel worse.”

Ben had been sitting quietly in the corner of the room. He frowned, tilting his head. He held up his hand to interrupt the conversation.

“What?” Sawyer asked.

“Listen.”

They all fell silent. A rustling noise was coming from the basement.

“Guns,” Valerie instructed quickly. “Claire, get the fuck out of here—tell the others to get ready to run. Alex, Karl, go with her.”

She drew the gun at her thigh. Desmond pulled a handgun from his waistband. Ben and Sawyer grabbed rifles from the bag they had kept by the front door.

Slow creaking footsteps made their way up from the basement.

“Can it come through the tunnels?” Valerie asked Ben, an eyebrow raised.

“Not unless it’s summoned. Not with the fence on.”

The door behind Ben’s bookshelf started to creak open.

“Hello,” a voice said cautiously from the other side. “Don’t shoot—it’s us.”

A tall figure emerged from behind the door, hands in the air. 

“Richard,” Ben said, frowning at him. He didn’t lower the gun.

Jack followed Richard into the living room.

“You don’t have Locke with you?”

“John Locke is dead,” Jack replied. “That thing is not Locke.”

Valerie lowered her gun, and the rest of them followed suit.

“Did you figure that out before or after you killed Jacob?” Valerie asked Jack flatly.

Jack gaped at her. “You knew?”

She shook her head. “I guessed. Ben was the one who did it last time. Of course, last time Ben was also the one who killed John,” she added.

“I was?” Ben exclaimed.

“You’ll remember eventually, hon,” she told him casually, stepping out of the living room. “I’ll go tell the others it was a false alarm.”

Jack blinked, unsure of how to process what he’d just learned.

Desmond nodded at him. “It’s good to see you, brother.”

“Likewise,” Jack replied, drawing back his focus. He began explaining the situation as he understood it—describing what had happened inside the statue, their trip to the lighthouse, and what Jacob’s ghost had told Hurley about the heart of the Island.

He took a deep breath. “We’re here because we need Desmond,” he said heavily. “We need to take him to the heart of the Island—if we do that, the thing can be killed.”

“Where’s Kate?” Sawyer asked.

“She’s with Hurley. They’re waiting for us. We thought it was safer to split up.”

“Damnit Freckles,” he sighed. “What about Sayid?”

Jack shook his head. “He didn’t make it. That thing—it killed everyone—people from your plane, the Others—everyone but us.”

They took a moment to process the news, aware that there wasn’t time to grieve.

“So what are we dealing with out there? How fucked are we?” Sawyer asked eventually.

As Jack explained the obstacles they would have to face, Richard pulled Ben aside.

“I was wrong about Valerie, it seems,” he murmured. “Jack told me what she did.”

Ben smiled to himself. “You weren’t entirely wrong.”

“Oh?”

“She _was_ lying—and keeping secrets. Your instincts were right.”

“Jack tells me she was your wife—or is, I suppose?”

“You officiated our wedding, actually,” Ben confirmed. “You said something very nice about the importance of holding on to love when you find it.”

Richard blinked in surprise.

“About ten years from now,” Ben explained. “On that cliff that looks out over the ocean.”

“You remember?”

“Bits and pieces. Enough to understand the mistakes I’ve made.”

Richard eyed him seriously—as if assessing the ways that he had changed since they had last spoken.

“You know why she came back, don’t you Benjamin?”

Ben frowned. “For Alex—I could never forgive myself for what I—”

“She came back for _you_ ,” he interrupted. “I know that desperation. I would have done anything to see my wife one last time. I saw it in her when she first arrived—I didn’t realize what I was seeing—I knew it was something familiar, but I didn’t I understand it until Jack explained what she’d done. She loves you very much, Benjamin. Her world was unbearable without you.”

Ben looked at him, stunned by the way he’d put it all into words. “I know,” he said slowly.

“That kind of love changes a person.”

“It changes a lot of things,” Ben added, nodding in agreement. “It changed everything.”

Alpert patted Ben on the shoulder, a wise smile on his face. “I’m happy for you, Benjamin,” he said simply, and they rejoined the group.

“Well, I know what I have to do,” Desmond announced as Jack finished his explanation. “What are we waiting for?” he asked, turning to Ben and Richard.

“We need some semblance of a plan,” Richard told him.

“He—it—whatever—it knows we’re fucked without Desmond.” Valerie agreed, reappearing in the doorway. “But it needs him as much as we do. Let’s gather the others. We need to make some decisions.”

They met at the center of the Barracks. Valerie motioned at Jack to address the group.

He stood up and looked at all of them. “I’m not sure what I’m supposed to say here—we’ve all lost so much. But we were all brought here for a reason—I have to believe that. I have to believe that there’s a reason for everything we went through. It can’t have been for nothing. We can’t let it be for nothing. We can stop him.”

“We’ve done it before,” Desmond told him calmly.

“I hope you’re right—but we know things aren’t the same. And _this_ life—this is all we have. I know what I need to do—and I need Desmond to do it—but the rest of you should go. Stick together. Make it to the plane. If this thing doesn’t go as planned...” he trailed off

“Val and I will stay,” Ben said. “We’ll do what we can to get you there safely.”

“Alright,” Jack agreed, his eyes somber.

“I’ll stay too,” Sawyer volunteered.

“No, James,” Jack replied. “You have to go.”

He stood up and looked Jack in the eyes, his expression flickering rapidly between anger and grief. “So what, Doc? You’re going to run off into the jungle—guns blazing—with Glasses and time-traveling Lara Croft? And I’m supposed to—what? Run away?”

“James Ford, listen to me,” Valerie said firmly. “These people are counting on you.” She gestured at the group, watching as he locked eyes with Claire, Sun, and Jin. “You get them the hell on that plane, and you use whatever fucking duct tape and scrap metal you can find to get that bucket of bolts off the ground and away from this place. And then you all live the absolute _fuck_ out of the rest of your lives. _That_ is what you’re supposed to do.”

Sawyer looked at her with a frown. She returned his gaze with a steely calm.

“Alright, Wednesday,” he agreed conciliatorily.

Alex and Karl stepped forward to join Jack.

“We’re staying,” Alex announced, taking Karl’s hand. “This is my home too. I’m not abandoning it.”

“Alex—”

“Dad, this isn’t open to debate. This is my choice.”

“Please, Alex—it won’t be safe.”

She stared him down. “I know.”

He nodded slowly. She’d made her decision.

“What about Hurley and Kate?” Claire asked.

“We’ll send them your way as soon as we meet back up with them.” Jack replied. “No matter what, the plane waits as long as possible for them.”

“Got it doc,” Sawyer acknowledged.

“We’ll stay in touch with you,” Ben added, tossing walkies to Miles and Sawyer. “We’ll buy you as much time as we can.”

“There’s no guarantee that deathtrap is getting off the ground,” Frank cautioned.

“We believe in you, Frank,” Miles said, slapping him on the shoulder. “And we’ve got a year’s supply of duct tape. We’ll make it work.”

They parted quickly, unwilling to acknowledge that these goodbyes would likely be their last. Valerie pulled Sawyer into a hug as he started to walk away.

“Get the hell off my island, asshole,” she whispered.

“Yes ma’am,” he replied with a smirk.

Sawyer walked away, leading his group to the outriggers.

Valerie turned back to Ben and sighed heavily. He wrapped an arm around her shoulder and kissed the side of her head. 

“Jack,” she asked quietly, “did you meet Jacob again after—did he—”

“Yes—he passed it to me.”

“Even though you killed him?”

“I think he wanted me to kill him—he was ready to die.”

“I fucking _told_ you,” she muttered to Ben.

“Told me what?”

“I was _sure_ that it was what Jacob had wanted,” she told Jack, “but Ben never believed me.”

Jack turned to Ben. “Were _you_ the Island’s protector?” he asked.  
  
“No, it wasn’t me,” Ben answered simply.

“Who was it?”

Ben glanced at Valerie before answering.

“It’s probably best not to get into that, Jack,” he replied cautiously.

Jack nodded, realizing that it was unwise to ask more questions. He turned to Desmond. “I guess we better get started then.”

“What’s the plan?” Karl asked.

“We need to find the heart of the Island—then find Locke and kill him.”

“And meet up with Kate and Hugo,” Ben added.

“I don’t like suggesting that we split up,” Jack told them, “but we need to get them on that plane—before anything goes down.”

“We’ll go find them,” Alex offered.

“I’m not letting you out of my sight,” Ben told her firmly.

“Ben and I can go with the kids,” Valerie suggested. “It won’t be looking for us. You three go do whatever you have to do.”

“Alright,” Jack agreed hesitantly. “Be careful.”

Valerie nodded solemnly.

Desmond pulled her into a hug. “You be safe,” he instructed gruffly.

Val smiled appreciatively. “Take care, Des,” she instructed.

“Valerie, you’ve done a good thing,” Richard said, tilting his head at Alex. He turned to Ben, nodding to himself. “There’s no time to say everything that needs to be said, Benjamin. But I trust you’ll do what’s right.”

Ben nodded back at him, grasping his outstretched hand.

“Thank you, old friend,” Ben told him, “for everything.”

Jack sighed. “We’d better get going.”

The two groups parted—Jack, Richard, and Desmond headed towards the heart of the Island, and Ben and Val leading Alex and Karl to the place Hurley and Kate were supposed to be waiting. 

Alex did her best to lighten the somber mood, animatedly telling her father about the more ridiculous things that had happened while he was gone—like the morning they’d woken up with a huge bird in the house, or the night they’d been sure a polar bear was in the compound, only to discover that Vincent had found them.

“Where _is_ Vincent?” Valerie asked. “Do you guys take care of him?”

“No—no he doesn’t seem to need us,” Karl replied. “He kind of comes and goes as he pleases. He seems to know what he’s doing.”

“That sounds right,” Valerie replied, smiling. “He’s a very good dog.”

The attempts at levity helped, but the mood was decidedly grim. They pressed on as quickly as they could, conscious of the ticking clock.

Alex led them down a steep hill and into a narrow gorge.

There was an eerie silence in the ravine. Ben found himself acutely aware of every crunching footstep.

Something felt off.

“Benjamin Linus,” a familiar voice called from the crest of the ridge above them.

Ben looked up. The figure stood with his back to the midday sun. Ben squinted, holding his and over the sun. It was Locke.

He drew his gun.

Valerie stepped in front of Ben. She glanced back at him over her shoulder, a concerned frown on her face. The low ground put them at a distinct disadvantage.

“What do you want?” she called up at it. “Desmond’s not with us.”

“Oh,” he replied with biting hostility. “You again.”

“We’re just trying to get off the Island,” Ben attempted. “Let us pass.”

“You know,” Locke replied, aiming his rifle at Valerie, “I don’t think I will.” He pulled the trigger.

The rifle responded with an empty click.

He pulled the trigger again, with the same result.

Valerie laughed, realizing that the Island wasn’t letting him shoot her. “I told you—I’m not yours to kill.”

“They are, though,” he replied, quickly turning the gun on Alex. He pulled the trigger again.

Ben saw it happening and dove in front of his daughter, knocking her to the ground. A searing heat tore through his side. He stifled his reaction.

“God fucking damnit, you evil piece of shit!” Valerie exclaimed and started firing up at him—the bullets hitting him but having no effect.

“Dad!” Alex cried. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he lied. “I’m fine—are you alright? Did it hit you?”

“No—I’m good,” she answered. Karl took her by the hand and dragged her behind a tree. Ben grabbed Valerie by the waist and pulled her away, taking cover with Karl and Alex.

Bullets whizzed by.

“Can we stop him somehow?” Alex asked. “Maybe if we can—”

A deep rumbling in the distance interrupted her suggestion.

Everything seemed to change in an instant. The skies darkened, and the air crackled with angry electricity.

Valerie didn’t hesitate—she burst out from behind the tree and, aiming carefully, took a shot at Locke.

It hit him in the arm. He touched the wound—noting with some surprise that he’d actually been injured.

Valerie pulled the trigger again, narrowly missing his leg.

There was fear in his eyes. He turned away, running from the ravine.

“We have to keep moving,” Valerie told the group. “It’s already happening. We have to find Kate and Hugo.”

Ben quietly touched the place where he’d been hit. He looked at his fingers—dripping with dark blood. The bullet had probably nicked a vein. There was no way to know how serious it was, but he was not optimistic. In the heavy rain, his dark clothing was enough to hide the severity of the wound from the others, at least. There was no time to deal with it now.

They made it to the beach, finding an anxious Kate pacing in the sand as Hugo stared out at the water.

“Kate!” Valerie shouted.

She and Hugo both looked up.

“Where’s Jack?” She shouted urgently.

“He’s going to kill that thing,” Alex explained, rushing over to them. “We have to get you to the plane.”

The ground lurched under their feet as another rumbling crack echoed in their ears.

“I have to help him!” Kate exclaimed.

“There’s no _time_ ,” Alex replied. “He wanted us to make sure you were safe!”

As Alex launched into an impassioned speech, imploring Kate and Hurley to leave the Island, Valerie stepped back to stand at Ben’s side.

He smiled at her through gritted teeth.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

He nodded, but she frowned at him, unconvinced.

“Are you _bleeding_?” she whispered, noticing the growing dark stain over his hip.

“It’s fine,” he insisted dismissively, shaking his head. “It’s nothing serious.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” he lied.

“Look,” she whispered, grabbing his shoulder. She pointed out at the water. The third outrigger that they’d pushed out from Hydra island was floating just offshore.

“You have to take Hurley in the canoe!” Kate told Alex as she noticed the outrigger. “Get him to the plane! I’ll be fine.”

“I’m not getting in that thing,” Hurley objected.

“Hurley, the plane is going to leave,” Alex insisted. “We’ll get you to the others—Sawyer is there, with Jin and Sun, and Claire, and Miles. They’re all waiting for you. Frank is going to fly you home.”

Ben flashed a worried look at Valerie, but she shook her head. They couldn’t interfere with this—it was too important.

Hugo looked up at them helplessly. “We have to help Jack,” he insisted.

Alex glanced back at her dad.

“It’s not up to me,” he said simply.

Karl’s radio buzzed at his hip.

“Are you guys alright over there?” Sawyer’s voice crackled. “Is this whole damn place going under?”

Kate grabbed the walkie from Karl before he could answer. “James, it’s Kate. We’re going to help Jack—wait as long as you can, but if you have to leave without us, you leave.”

“I promised the doc we’d wait for you.”

“Well I’m overruling him. He doesn’t get to fucking martyr himself. We’ll try to make it but—whatever happens, happens.”

She handed the walkie back to Karl.

“Where is he?” Kate asked again. “Where’s Jack?”

Valerie shook her head. “We don’t know—we can try to find him. There’s not much time.”

They started running back into the jungle.

A flash of lighting and booming crash of thunder pierced the air. An intense torrent of rain burst from the sky.

Ben glanced over his shoulder at Valerie, and she met his gaze with a grim smile.

He was starting to feel weak. For a moment, he considered stopping—telling the group to go on without him. But he knew that Jack could use all the help he could get, and he didn’t want to leave Alex.

They heard a gunshot ring out in the distance.

“What was that?” Hurley asked.

“I think Jack found Locke—or maybe the other way around,” Kate answered. She started sprinting towards the noise, her gun drawn.

The earth rumbled again, punctuated by a sharp, splintering crack.

“Hurley—move!” Alex shouted, pushing Hugo out of the way of the falling tree.

It happened slowly—and yet far too quickly for Ben to stop it.

The tree collapsed on top of Alex, crushing her under its weight.

“Alex!” Karl cried out—his voice a bone-chilling, guttural wail. He fell to his knees beside her head. “No—Alex—please!” he sobbed.

Ben rushed over to her, hoping against reason that she’d somehow be fine.

A speechless Valerie followed him, the color drained from her face and a deeply shaken look in her eyes.

“We can get the tree off!” Kate offered, running back to help.

Valerie shook her head in stunned silence.

“It’s too late,” Hugo murmured sadly.

“Alexandra,” Ben rasped, taking her limp hand. There was a horrible familiarity in seeing her like this. He was sick to his stomach. He could have stopped this—if he’d been standing where she was standing—if he’d been close enough to push her away. He would give his life a hundred times over to save hers, but this time he hadn’t been given the choice.

His chest felt both hollow and heavy at once. “Alex,” he begged, his voiced hushed and desperate.

She slowly blinked open her eyes, blood dripping from the corner of her mouth.

“Daddy?” Her voice was weak, and her eyes were swimming with fear and confusion.

“I’m here,” he told her.

“Alex?” Karl whispered.

“Karl,” she replied. “I love you so much.”

The tears rolled down his cheeks. “I love you more,” he told her, and he kissed her.

Her eyes fluttered shut. Her hand slipped out of Ben’s as the life left her body.

Ben’s eyes filled with tears. He leaned forward, kissing the top of her head.

The rain picked up suddenly, the storm seeming to grow angrier with Alex’s passing. The earth groaned again, throwing Ben onto his back.

Rocks started to fall from the cliff above them. Val grabbed Ben by the armpits and pulled him to his feet, out of the way of the falling debris.

The ground cracked under their feet, separating Valerie and Ben from Kate, Hugo, and Karl.

More gunshots echoed in the distance.

Hurley pulled a distraught Karl away from Alex’s body.

“We have to go!” Kate shouted over the roar of the rain. She pointed up at the cliff. “It’s coming down!”

More rocks and debris hurtled towards them. Ben took a few shaky steps back, stumbling in the slippery mud.

Ben could see his own agony reflected in Valerie’s eyes. She nodded at him, and they started running as the cliff face collapsed behind them.

They kept running, even once they were clear of the landslide. They weren’t running towards anything—but they had to keep moving. Not running would mean stopping to process what had happened.

They ran until they emerged from the jungle, then ran up the beach until they couldn’t run anymore. Ben wasn’t sure how long they had been running, or where they were, or when it had stopped raining.

He slowed down and tried to catch his breath. He bent over, wincing. The shock and adrenaline had finally begun to wear off.

Valerie stopped next to him, her hand on his shoulder. She looked out at the horizon.

“Val, I’m not going to make it,” Ben said shakily. His knees buckled, and he collapsed into the sand. He touched the wound under his ribs.

She extended her hand to pull him back to his feet. “We’ll be fine, Ben, it’s okay.”

“No, Valerie—it’s over.” He lifted his shirt, revealing the true extent of his bleeding.

It took her a moment to understand what he was telling her.

“No.” Her eyes filled with tears, and she fell to her knees. “Ben—please—no. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t save her. I’m so sorry. It was all for nothing—all of it.” She cried helplessly into his shoulder.

“It wasn’t for nothing,” he murmured. “She had three more years. She was happy. She died knowing how much she was loved—that I’d give everything for her.”

He leaned back into the sand, and she lay down beside him. He looked out at the ocean—at the white crests of waves under the red and golds of the sunset.

He realized that they were sitting exactly in the spot where she’d told him who she was—the same spot where she’d agreed to marry him. He smiled.

Val hadn’t stopped the worst from happening, but—in trying—she had changed him profoundly. He’d been loved by someone who had seen the worst in him—his violence and his selfish cruelty—and forgiven it.

“You didn’t save her life, Valerie, but you did save mine. I’m a far, far better man for having had your love.”

She squeezed his hand.

He was quiet for a while—talking would take energy he didn’t have. He held her against his chest as she cried. He felt the softness of her hair under his cheek. He closed his eyes.

He remembered everything.

“Valerie,” he murmured.

She looked at him.

“It’s all there. My memories. All of it.”

Her nose started to bleed.

“I love you,” he told her, suddenly overwhelmed by the knowledge. 

“I love you too,” she replied, smiling sadly through her tears.

He exhaled slowly. She rested her head over his heart.

“You’re dying,” he added, sensing her weakness.

She wiped the blood from her nose, nodding. “I don’t think I can survive in this time without you.”

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, “for asking you to do this.”

“No, no—don’t apologize. It gave me more time with you. It was worth it.”

There was a gentle rumbling in the distance, and they watched the sky together as the plane soared overhead.

Ben smiled suddenly and looked at Valerie. He wiped blood and tears from her face and tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ears. “I love you,” he whispered again, relieved to be saying the words.

She kissed him. “Promise you’ll find me in the next life.”

“I promise,” he breathed.

He blinked heavily and closed his eyes. He was gone.

Tears streamed down her face. She could feel the sickness taking her. She clung to Ben’s chest and listened to the sound of the ocean crashing into the sand. Drowsy and cold, she closed her eyes. The ocean faded into the distance, and Valerie drifted peacefully into the dark.

**Epilogue: A Far Better Rest**

Ben had felt very much at peace since the rest of the Oceanic passengers had gone into the church. He should miss Hugo, he thought, but he didn’t. He wasn’t gone, really—and he was at rest.

It was a strange thing to go about his life, knowing that it wasn’t really a life at all—but Alex needed him, and his great unfulfilled purpose was to be a father to her—the kind of father she deserved.

If her experience was anything like his, Rousseau would understand when she inevitably remembered. There would be no room for anger. Not here.

He knew Alex would forgive him too, in spite of how little he deserved it. He could spend another lifetime trying to atone for what he did, but it would never be enough. He would try, though. A second chance was not a thing to be wasted.

It was a Sunday morning—to the extent that it was really any day. He was driving—not heading anywhere in particular—but he felt a sudden urge to have a cup of strong tea. He pulled into the parking lot of a Coffee Bean.

There was a short line in the store. The woman in front of him had a Blackberry to her ear. Her sleek ivory dress flattered her slender figure. Her shoulder-length dark hair was shiny and pin straight. She held her hand over the phone to order an iced mocha, then went back to the conversation.

“I don’t think it’s worth it to get into a discovery dispute at this point—”

“No, I agree, but from a litigation risk perspective—”

Ben ordered a medium tea, deciding at the last moment to opt for the iced option.

“Well it’s not like we couldn’t file a cross-motion if it gets to that point, honestly—”

“Why do you think I’m here?”

The words hit Ben like a punch to the chest. He wasn’t sure why, at first, but the fog he felt was familiar. He knew her.

She picked up her iced mocha from the counter and turned to grab a straw. He picked up his tea. She turned around to leave, and her eyes met his.

He stared at her, trying to understand his own reaction to her. She grinned at him, and—in his distraction—he bumped into her, spilling his tea all over her white dress.

“Holy fuck,” she exclaimed, and immediately started laughing.

Valerie.

The memories rushed in—a second lifetime. All the gaps in his mind—in the time he’d spent with Hugo—suddenly made sense. The life he had remembered was overlaid with another life that he had somehow also lived.

Valerie swimming towards him. Valerie arguing with him about turkey. Valerie soaked with rain, sitting in the mud next to him. Valerie soaked in blood, kissing him.

His eyes filled with tears.

“I’m so sorry,” he told her, his voice quiet. He grabbed napkins and handed them to her.

“It’s fine—I needed an excuse to skip going into the office. Let me get you another tea.”

“It was my fault—

“Well—maybe—but let me get you another one anyway.”

“Alright,” he agreed slowly.

Valerie on the beach at night. Valerie beaming at him in a white dress. Valerie by his side as he died, twice.

“Are you okay?” she asked. “You seem a little shaken.”

“A friend of mine passed on last night,” he told her quickly. “I’m a little out of it.”

“Oh—fuck. Sorry.”

She reordered the tea for him and sat down at one of the tables.

“Did you want to sit for a minute?”

He nodded and sat down across from her. He stared openly at her face, unable to completely contain his emotion.

“Valerie, by the way,” she told him, taking a sip of the iced mocha.

“Ben Linus,” he replied, still staring at her.

She stared back at him, frowning slightly. He could sense that she was trying to understand the nascent feeling of recognition.

“Do you want to tell me about your friend?”

He thought about it. “To be honest, not really.”

“Oh good,” she replied, relieved. “I’m not very good at dealing with death.”

He smirked, knowing that it was not entirely true. “We have that in common,” he replied.

She chuckled.

“What do you do?” she asked sipping more of the mocha.

“I teach history,” he answered. “You’re a lawyer?” he added, stepping away to grab his tea from the counter.

“How could you tell?” she asked him, turning her chair to face him.

“Your phone call. And the fact that you are in business attire on a Sunday, in L.A.”

“Honestly I could get away with wearing yoga pants in the office over the weekend, but I really like wearing this dress.”

He winced. “Sorry about that, again.”

She laughed. “The dry cleaners should be able to handle it.”

“Let me take care of that, at least,” he said, insistently.

She considered arguing with him but thought better of it. “Okay,” she agreed, her voice soft.

She was silent for a while, sipping her drink and staring at him. The silence was comfortable, as it always had been.

“Could you give me a ride home, actually?” she asked suddenly. “I walked here—and, you know…” she gestured at the large stain on her dress.

He was glad she’d asked. He hadn’t thought through how to go about ensuring that she would stay in touch with him.

He held the door to the coffee shop open for her as they left, and the passenger door to his sedan open as she stepped into the car.

“My building’s called The Orchid,” she told him, and began to give him directions. “It’s just a couple of minutes from here.”

He smiled wryly. He knew where he was going, somehow. “I think I’ve been there before,” he said through a chuckle, and started to drive.

He could feel her eyes on him.

“What?” he asked, the hint of a smile on his lips.

“Who _are_ you?” she asked. “I feel like we’ve already met.”

“Perhaps we have,” he answered slyly.

She bit her lip and continued looking at him, but she didn’t say a word until they arrived at her condo complex.

She touched his forearm lightly as he parked.

“Do you—would you like to come in?” she asked, her voice careful.

He raised an eyebrow and blinked slowly.

“I’m sorry if that’s too forward—I just—I think I want to get to know you better.”

They locked eyes for a moment—she frowned quizzically as his lips curled into an amused little smile.

“I would like that very much,” he answered.

He followed her through the lobby of her building and into the elevator. She pressed the button for the eighth floor, and took a step back, her shoulder bumping against his.

He caught her hand in his, loosely, and she squeezed back in response. She looked up at him, clearly confused by what she was feeling, but—at the same time—certain that she was doing what she was supposed to.

She grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and pulled herself into him, planting a kiss on his mouth, pushing him into the corner of the elevator.

He held her head in his hands, his thumbs against her temples, and he kissed her back.

She pulled away and looked into his eyes. “I don’t know why I did that,” she admitted.

“Yes you do, Val,” he replied.

Her eyes darted back and forth, searching his with a passionate urgency.

“Ben.”

She threw her arms around his neck, sobbing freely into his shoulder.

“It’s alright, Val,” he told her gently, “it’s alright.”

She held him tightly, clutching the back of his neck. He kissed the side of her head and wrapped his arms around her, pressing his cheek against her hair.

If there was meaning in anything that had happened, it was this—to love another person and be loved in return. There was no grander plan—no greater purpose—not for any of them. In the end, this was all that had ever mattered.

“It’s alright,” he repeated. “I found you.”


End file.
